


A Little Enlightenment

by completetheory



Series: The Long Shadows [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Nonbinary Character, Post-Canon, Queer Friendly, Queer Themes, Trans Female Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Maxwell suffers difficulties as a result of the Nightmare Throne, and Wilson is a former physician.(Set in a greater universe that takes place after Charlie commands the Constant. In line with all chronological canon up to Turn of Tides, contains spoilers!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).

Wilson never went into the deep woods without a lantern and at least two spare torches, no matter what time of day it was, or what phase of moon. And especially now, when the new moon was ready to bathe the whole Constant in lethal darkness.

Prior to the combination of science and Maxwell's diabolism, Wilson really hadn't needed to go out much in those parts, anyway. But after the florid postern had gathered together many of the survivors, it had been wise to split camps (and therefore resources) to guard against disasters. Wildfires, the Deerclops, disease, and the kind of _casus fortuitus_ the Constant specialized in could wipe out a whole season's worth of supplies otherwise. 

Wilson had assumed at first that Maxwell liked the forest because of the graves and evil flowers dotted all around as a good source of nightmare fuel, as well as the totally normal trees. Maxwell's camp was the furthest away from their central location, accessible only by wormhole or several days' travel. Unlike some of the others, Wilson didn't think the magician wanted to be alone. 

_Go on, stay a while. Keep us company._

The magnificent stone walls loomed suddenly out of the dark, three times as tall as a person and bulwarked thrice deep, product of Maxwell's ability to scout the caves for extended lengths of time and bring back rocks mined almost effortlessly by shadow puppetry. The gate was less impressive by far, and unlocked. It swung open when Wilson knocked. 

"Hello?" 

To her left was a field of replanted grass, fenced in with another small gate, and to her right, several berry bushes. The requisite icebox, crockpot and cooking fire were dotted about the place, along with several storage chests. Maxwell didn't seem to be present anywhere, but there were two shadow puppet guards standing near the door, so she couldn't be too far off. 

One of the guards shut the door behind her, and she took that to mean she was welcome, watching dusk cede to night and kindling up a fire. Part of the reason she'd come was that it was late autumn, and she wanted to make sure Maxwell hadn't been too distracted with other matters, that she'd allotted enough firewood to herself if she was insisting on living all the way out here. 

Freezing to death wasn't a fun way to go, but by now Wilson could rank the top five worst ways, and didn't want _any_ of the other survivors to suffer. Wendy and Webber were kept safe back at the core base, looked over by Wolfgang and Wes, and everyone else - well, most of them - seemed capable. 

She knew that would probably offend Maxwell, but the magician had to admit just because she built this world didn't mean she was able to survive in it without help. 

Wilson leaned over to investigate the fridge, a little peckish and planning to replace whatever she took, but the majority of stuff in it was uncooked mushrooms, for some reason. Then there was a little jar labeled with a skull and crossbones that looked to have nightmare fuel in it. Pickled nightmare fuel? Interesting that she'd marked it Do Not Eat, like she knew someone - Wilson - might come along and look. 

She knew some might be less than forgiving of Maxwell's reign over the Constant, but nobody else had seen her the way Wilson had, tied to the throne, looking sick and exhausted... Wilson's heart ached with pity for the suffering of any creature. Even killing animals to survive had been regrettable - experimenting on animals back home was necessary, like Pasteur trying to fine tune vaccines. But Maxwell's suffering had been for the enjoyment of Them, and Wilson had opposed it as soon as new context had come. 

That was just science.

She looked up as the gates banged, and Maxwell entered with lit torch, so frantic in her designs that she didn't even seem to register Wilson's presence at first. 

"Hurry up!" She urged the shadow guards, who closed the gate again and then led her over to the far end of the stone walls. 

"Maxwell?" Wilson was freshly worried, "What's wrong?" 

The guards were actually chaining Maxwell up with links forged from precious moonrock to a ring set into the stone wall. The juxtaposition of those thin limbs to the powerful metal gave Wilson werepig vibes, concern coloring her observations even more.

"Higgsbury, I wish you'd called ahead." Maxwell looked more embarrassed than upset, like there was likely to be rammifications socially, rather than lethally, "But you're here now and it's dangerous to go out traveling, so make yourself comfortable. You might cook a few mushrooms for me, if you're here to help." 

"I--kinda was here to help, but I don't understand. What are you doing?" 

"Ritual meditation?" The lie tripped from Maxwell's lips and did the verbal equivalent of falling down a flight of stairs. Wilson wrinkled her nose, rejecting that possibility entirely.

She did, in a show of good grace, retreat to the fire and cook the mushrooms - blue and green, not red - bringing them back over to the now-captive Maxwell. 

"Just because you have shadows to help you doesn't mean you don't need my help too." Wilson pointed out, setting the steaming mushrooms down beside her. "Come on. Talk to me?" 

Maxwell looked anywhere but at her face. "It can't be helped, I suppose." She flexed her hands in the heavy cuffs. "You know the "Moon" phases as they relate to attacks by Charlie, but every so often I have a bad night ... new "moon"s are ... difficult." Her skin was ashen and her teeth a bit sharper than usual, Wilson thought, but there was no change equivalent to the werepigs just yet.

"Can I run some tests on you?" Wilson asked. "It won't hurt." 

The magician sighed, shakily, "What makes you think I deserve your help?" 

The question confounded Wilson more than anything, and she slowly nibbled at the kebab she'd made earlier. "I do. I make me think that. I get to decide, right?" 

"Right. Go on then. But be careful I don't bite you." 

"I was a physician, and I did a lot of animal testing. I'm used to being bitten." Wilson coaxed, "Are you telling me it's loss of control? Describe your symptoms." 

The shadow guards were looking at one another uncertainly. Maxwell recalibrated her expectations, obviously having expected to spend the night alone. 

"Not long after Charlie took the throne, I started to notice a pattern during the "moon" phases, where... during the full "moon" I would feel more emotionally stable, and during the new "moon", much less. Stress enhances the effect." 

Wilson rummaged through one of Maxwell's storage chests, taking out a few useful items. Using the same technique as the booster shot, she made a syringe, approaching Maxwell and rolling up one of her sleeves. The magician's arms up to the elbow were the jet black, lightless color of nightmare fuel, fading to grey pallor above. 

"It'll only sting a little. Why do you put scarequotes around 'moon'?" She took the blood sample, as Maxwell waited patiently, not reacting badly - that was a good sign. 

"Because it isn't really a moon. Just like They aren't really shadows. The mind perceives what is familiar, but ultimately it's all illusion. The "moon" generates gestalts, but that too is illusory. You know from science, I know from magic, nothing in the world is cleanly divisible. You can break things into pieces, but you can't divide where one ends and another begins. Not really. The churning mass of evolutionary limbs, webbed feet and fingers, tailbones and eyeless cave creatures with hollow socketed skulls... A constant push forward and backward that human perception simplifies into two states, for ease of comprehension." 

"Are you saying binary states don't exist?" Wilson took the blood, looking around, "Is it okay if I use this table to build a lab?" 

"Be my guest." Maxwell oriented back onto the question, "They exist only as convenience. A symbol that represents an idea, that is applied to the real world with a generally high, but _far_ from perfect rate of success. The Constant destroys these illusions. Chaos and order are no longer real, divisible things. Social gender doesn't exist, physical sex is irrelevant, mutable. Mechanical beings can live as biological ones do. There is no real boundary between what is and what could be. Even the void is pregnant with possibilities." 

Wilson listened to all of that carefully, while building up a handful of devices onto the table. "Oh, I know science isn't there to define societial rules. Believe me, half the reason I prefer the Constant is that I don't need to attend formal parties back home, or socialize with people, hobnob for funding, talk about politics or gossip or scandal. It's all so tedious... fake. Science is open, real. Truth. The laws of physics don't care for judgmental opinions." 

Maxwell offered a serrated grin. "That's why you called yourself a gentleman scientist, isn't it. You don't really feel like a man's man." 

"Hmm?" 

Wilson examined the blood. It was sickly, purplish, like the stuff that came from monster meat. She wanted to take a secondary sample under a full moon, too, but this would have to do for now. "Wolfgang's pretty strong and interested in lifting weights, you know, but I never felt like he was unkind as an individual. It's like - what you said about social gender? If it didn't mean I was obligated to do or believe or act in certain ways, I wouldn't care what people saw me as. But when you're a man in the place I come from, people want you to 'pick out' a woman to marry, and raise a family, and never cry, and go hunting, and all the rest. It's garbage, it's uncomfortable."

Wilson stopped, realizing, "I was living in a shack in the woods long before you pulled me here so I could live in a tent in the woods. --Why are we talking about this?" 

"It relates to the "Moon", but only slightly. It's about unreal boundaries." Maxwell agreed, flexing her hands in the restraints again. 

"Are those too tight? You're going to cut off your circulation." 

"I'm fine. If you'd rather talk about something else, that's not a problem. For the record, though... I've seen you around camp in a skirt. I think it looks nice." 

Wilson stared at her for a second, and then continued calibrating the blood, but now with a smile on her face. 

"Even though it was a big part of why I avoided people, I didn't think about it too much." Wilson confessed. "Only after I came here. You know those gifts that They give you every so often? I was getting a lot of nice clothes. I thought, who's going to care if I wear a skirt? The Deerclops?" 

Maxwell's chuckle was quiet in the dark between them. She let Wilson work in silence for a bit, then, aroused by curiosity, she moved in her chains, "So what is it? What are you testing for?" 

Wilson peered into the equipment, as inscrutible to Maxwell as certain magic items might be to Wilson, though Wilson was well on her way to synchronising the magic of reincarnation by meat effigy with scientific procedures. 

"Well I mean, your white and red blood cell count are normal-ish compared to mine, but you have haemerythrin instead of hemoglobin." 

Maxwell nodded gravely. "What does that mean, is it good? Stylish blood?" 

"Sort of, actually, yes. It's definitely why it's purple." Wilson tapped the syringe. "Haemerythrin is - uh, the binding agent for oxygen in the blood of some worms and other sea creatures. And the Hounds. Which should probably not be that way, because they're mammals. I haven't been able to get a dead sample of the depth worms for analysis but I think it's a safe bet for them too." 

Maxwell frowned. "So what does that prove, Wilson? Am I still human?"

"That's a social boundary." Wilson's turn to evoke a smile. "I mean, yes, and no. I wouldn't say no, but you're definitely ... different now than you were before the throne." 

Wilson fell back into silence, running a few more tests and then writing down notes on some papyrus handy, for personal research. A low, rippling growl from Maxwell made her look up, catching the black eyes in the dark, and the pale skin of her face, her lips drawn back over those teeth. 

"Hey. It's okay." Wilson kept her voice low, still writing. "Can you describe it now?" 

"It hurts." This brittle, broken off. Wilson came around the table, concerned. "Stay back, Higgsbury. It will resolve itself. It's - not a physical pain."

"Sometimes those are easier," Wilson, fresh off the heels of several painful deaths, could attest. The pain of isolation was sometimes terrible indeed. "So if this happens during the new moon, it means the light of the moon is keeping it from happening all the time... Is it similar to before? When you were trying to stop me from getting to the throne to save you?" 

"--I don't recall." 

Wilson hmmed, taking another bite of kebab. "It'll be okay. I'm not leaving, so don't worry." 

Maybe this was why she wanted to live out in the forest, so far away from everyone else. Mortification from the form she took, the control she lost. Dignity had always been a prize for Maxwell, one she was fain to sacrifice other comforts for. She sat across from the self-induced prisoner, unaware of Maxwell's strong feelings on imprisonment, how much the other would have to fear her own lack of control in order to submit to this. 

"I'm sorry." 

Wilson was surprised, "What for?" 

"What do you mean, 'what for'? For everything--everything that I did. Dragging you in here. Killing you. Bad instructions with the Postern." 

Higgsbury scooted forward. "That last one is just science. You can't control failed experiments. And you weren't... you. I mean, you haven't tried to kill me since. You know your friend, the one who hides in the darkness...?" 

"_Charlie._" The chains rattled. 

"Do you think she was a murderer before she got here? Because I don't. I think there's something ...compromising, about this place, that makes people act differently. Worse, in a lot of cases. That throne especially does something terrible to people. And I forgive you if it's what you want to hear, but I don't think you need to apologize for that." Wilson dug the kebab stick into the ground, drawing absently, "I think you're a victim, too. Like all of us. And I'm not gonna let you suffer alone." 

A beat, silence, only the ragged, strange breathing. Wilson hesitated. 

"Hey. You know I didn't like it out there, right? Back 'home'? I prefer it here. You may not believe that, but. When I wasn't sure, about pulling the lever for the postern. I was asking myself if I really sincerely wanted to go back. And part of me, a big part, was relieved when it didn't work. So you don't need to feel bad about me being here, either. It's for the best." 

Maxwell was quiet for a very long time, then, soft, curious.... "Why are you like this?" 

"It's better to be me, than not to be. Even if it's not always easier. But it's not hard to be kind to you." Wilson got up, brushing dust off herself, "I want another blood sample from you at the first and third quarter of the moon, and also the full moon, please. I'm not sure if your blood is purple all the time." 

"Neither am I." Maxwell admitted, closing her eyes and glancing down, thankful for the distraction. "Do you really think it's so important? Haemo-...?" 

"Haemerythrin. I don't know. And it's not like we can give you a blood transfusion every new moon." Wilson pondered. "But without multiple samples I can't test for other differences. And I want a sample of nightmare fuel too." 

"If you can stop this happening, I'll give you whatever samples you want. I'd cut off my arm."

Wilson laughed, "That's not necessary. --Oh, you already weren't serious. Okay. Excellent."

Wilson stayed with Maxwell all night, and when dawn came, awoke with a start on the hard ground. At some point one of the shadows had pulled a rug made from beefalo wool over her, because Maxwell herself was still restrained and quasi-napping. Maxwell had mentioned once not actually sleeping legitimately, though she wasn't as bad as Wickerbottom for not sleeping _ever_, there were yet more physiological changes there. 

The scientist scooted forward and started to undo the wrist manacles, and Maxwell came alert all at once, gasping like someone coming up from underwater desperate for air.

"Ghhh." She grumbled softly, right next to Wilson's ear, "Good morning, Higgsbury." 

"Good morning to you. I bet you're hungry. Let me cook you something." 

Maxwell stood when she was released, rubbing her wrists, and then stretched, sore and mildly cranky, but unwilling to take it out on Wilson. She beckoned one of the shadows instead, banishing it and scooping up the fuel it dissolved into. "Do you know what I'd like?" She asked, joining Wilson at the crockpot.

"Meatballs?" Wilson asked, hope springing eternal. 

"Close. A hot bath."

Wilson cast around for means to make that happen, but not being a djinni, her options were few. "I found a bathtub stopper once," She offered, "It means at one point in time in the Constant there existed, presumably, an entire bathtub." 

"Amazing." Maxwell watched her face as she cooked. "Just amazing."

"The Pig King thought so, too. I've never been hit in the face with so much gold." Wilson stirred the pot, not metaphorically, just actually. "I kind of want a real house. Not a tent or a walled in structure. I mean an interior. Floorboards, and ceiling. I was thinking I could ... nestle it into a mountainside. Shelter from the elements and I really doubt the Deerclops could spitefully knock down an entire mountain. And if it could, doesn't it deserve it?"

"You don't have excavation tools." Maxwell pointed out, "But with enough pig workers, you could probably make up for that. So you were serious about wanting to stay here forever." 

The scientist offered out a stone carved bowl full of meatballs. "Yes. I am usually serious. It's easy to tell when I'm not. But from what you've told me about the ruins, They had a whole civilization here before we came. If They can live here, so can we. And I get to do what I love every day. The only thing I miss from back home is toilet paper. Do you know what that says about 'back home'?"

"It says that it was wretched," Maxwell agreed, almost confessed, "I understand. I do." 

"Good, because - I didn't want to have to explain it to you, of all people."

Maxwell wondered what made her special, quirking a smile at the thought, whether it was bad or good, she was still willing to accept it as a positive thing. "Why 'of all people'?"

"You hated Earth, too? Didn't you?" 

Maxwell stared at her, then got very interested in the meatballs. "Not - particularly, at least, not at first. I was quite happy ..." That was obviously a lie, "I wasn't _successful,_ but... Well, this atrocity is preferable. Yes. Let's leave it at that." 

"And I have friends here now. People who I like, who like me. I wouldn't have that back there." Wilson put more meat into the pot. "A lot of them are so nice. You should get to know them too." 

"Thank you, no, most of them know me as a crazed despot. And not all of them have your Buddha nature." Maxwell speared a meatball and took a bite of it. 

"Is that what you know, or what you're assuming? Because I think very few of them actually dislike you." Wilson coaxed, "And you like me, don't you?" 

Maxwell's eyes widened, "You are likeable," She confessed, in confusion about why that was so stressful to own, suddenly, "So what?" 

"So, having friends isn't so bad. I'll bring Wormwood around. You'll like them too. I'm sure of it. And they can help you plant ...hey, how do those trees with faces even reproduce? I've never seen them drop any seeds." 

"Very good question. I don't have an answer." 

"So I'll be back in a few days. To coincide with the 1/4th quarter moon. Take another sample, see if we can find something that helps you. Science and medicine are trial-and-error processes, though, so please be patient. It might not work right away but I won't give up." Wilson patted her arm, "Wow. Please eat more."

"I've always had a frail physique." Maxwell wasn't offended, though, "Yes, come back in a few days. I'll have cleaned the place up by then."

"Wonderful." Wilson picked up her backpack, "I look forward to it!"

Maxwell found that she did, too. An alarming amount.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson made her way back to her own camp, which wasn't too far from what everyone referred to as _Core_ Camp. The Core was within spitting distance of the postern, and contained the sum total of most individuals' labor and energies for basic survival, but very few structures and storage, in order to minimize loss from giant attacks. It was also where the kids were, while the independently minded individuals roamed the Constant and did their own thing. 

WX-78 made excuses to spend time at Wilson's camp, with the natural offishness of a cat just coincidentally being in the same place as someone they liked, without wanting to admit it. They lifted a piece of paper to greet her. 

"UNIT WINONA LEFT SCHEMATICS FOR YOUR TORTURE DEVICE UPON YOUR RETURN."

Wilson picked up the blueprints, momentarily lost, "Oh. The outdoor shower. Yes. Don't worry, I'm not planning to let you get wet if I can help it." 

"UNNECESSARY." WX leaned on the table as Wilson set up her equipment, "I CAN MANAGE." 

"So many people around here are determined to do things on their own. But we all have different skills... we can help each other, if we'd just admit to being vulnerable in the first place." Wilson noticed one of WX's arm joints was made of dark canvas, and wrote down 'vulcanized rubber' on a scrap sheet to look into later. 

"WHAT IS YOUR SKILL?" WX asked, not as prickly as Wilson might have expected from the comment about vulnerability, "HAIR GROWTH?"

"Troubleshooting. Hair growth is a talent, I didn't refine it, it just happens." 

"FAIR ENOUGH." WX wandered away from the table, beginning to process some of the stones Wilson had collected into useable blocks. It was always good to have cut stone, in case something Wilson was working on blew up, or was destroyed in some other way. Wilson took advantage of the automaton's disinterest to keep writing, noting various possibilities. She chewed the end of her moosegoose feather nib, put the sample of blood into her icebox right next to all her food, and then sat. 

With the invention of agriculture (of a sort), she was able to devote the better part of her time to thinking, and less to the immediate necessity of survival. A few winters had come and gone on her own which had adequately taught her how to avoid dying from environmental problems, but it had taken everyone working together to really reach comfortable homeostasis, and not constant hunting and gathering. 

The problem with that purple blood was that it wasn't as efficient at binding oxygen, so if Maxwell was suffering deprivation during the new moon, it might explain some of her panic symptoms, or irrational thinking patterns. But there was probably more to it... She looked up as WX continued to build an impressive stack of cut stone and various other creations. 

"WX, you know what I think is weird about this place?" 

WX looked up with wide, cavernous eyes. "THE GIANT HYBRID ANIMAL ABOMINATIONS?"

"Well, yes. But--"

"THE HALLUCINATIONS THAT CROSS DIMENSIONS TO ATTACK THE BEHOLDER?" 

"That's a good one--" 

"TENTACLES WITH NO TERMINUS. GIFTS FROM BEYOND. OUR SOULS, TETHERED TO THIS PLANE UNTIL RESURRECTED WITH NECROMANCY. THE IMP WITHOUT PANTS." 

"Alright, it's my turn now." Wilson held up one hand, "I agree with you that a lot of these things are strange, but one thing that _should_ be here, _isn't_ here. Germs." 

WX looked around, as if to see them firsthand. "PLANTS BECOME DISEASED." 

"But people don't. And we're not affecting the local fauna either. The pigs should carry something harmful to us or vice versa. Probably vice versa, actually, given that the conditions we came from are less sanitary than this natural environment. We should have wiped them out with something by now, totally accidentally." 

"BORED," Said WX, uneasy with this line of reasoning. They went to investigate the prospect of converting more of Wilson's raw natural collections into building materials. 

"Please don't eat the spoiled berries, by the way, I'm running an experiment." Wilson added, turning back to the paper. "But even without germs, something strange is happening to us. All of us."

"SYSTEMS NOMINAL," WX argued, but listened with good grace otherwise, "EXPLAIN."

Wilson liked WX. They was a literal sort, but not overly argumentative. They liked to have rational explanations for things, and Wilson felt if she couldn't justify a concept to the automaton, then it needed refinement. It was nice to have them to bounce ideas off. 

"Maxwell's blood is purple. Wendy can literally summon the ghost of her dead sister to fight for her, or play with her. Webber is-... Webber. Something about being here, in the Constant, is altering _all_ of us. Maybe not you, but have you noticed Wes' little mime tricks arguably defy physics?"

"NO." WX didn't seem to be arguing, merely stating a fact, and returned to Wilson's desk with a handful of ropes, of various sizes.

"Thank you." Wilson acknowledged. "Maybe it only works on organics, and that's why you haven't noticed a change. We don't have other mechanical lifeforms that **aren't** native to the Constant, only you." 

WX watched her silently for several moments as she chewed her lip and thought about it, then made a loud, mechanical shrug, and went to sit by the alchemy engine, nervous busywork concluded. 

"That's the problem," Wilson continued, "I don't have enough scientific controls for anything. I can do guesswork and make hypotheses, but I can't prove anything." 

She examined her map, jumping from one problem to another - trying to find somewhere in the Constant to embed her potential future home. Bases of any kind were strategic and logistical nightmares, but she had plenty of experience now. Beefalo were nice - but nightmares in the spring - the same with any kind of bees. Wilson wanted to be near a wormhole, one that led far away into the Constant, to lure hostile giants, and a swamp, the better to collect vital research material. Tentacles were useful. Merms, essentially always hostile, unlike the pig people. 

She made a few notes, noting that WX appeared to be at a loose end. 

"Hey. Have you ever thought about naming yourself?" She thought it was casual, hypothetical style talk, just to break the silence, but WX gravitated toward it immediately.

"YES. I WOULD LIKE TO BE KNOWN AS ALPHA PIONEER ELITE X." 

The answer was so quick and WX so enthusiastic that Wilson had to take a second. "...APEX?" 

"THAT IS CORRECT." 

"Okay." Wilson acknowledged, "I think it's great you had such a ready answer. I guess it was kind of unfair to call you something that reminded you of - your creator's other failures? And I think everyone should get to name themselves, if they want to." 

"WHAT IS YOUR NEW NAME, FLESH CREATURE?" 

"No, I mean - not me. I'm fine. I like Wilson." She lifted her hands. "Anyway, uh, APEX. I'd like to ask a favor of you, if you don't mind." 

Instead of answering, the automaton just watched her with those empty, oddly moody eyes. Expectantly.

"I'm currently doing bloodwork studies on Maxwell." She held out a piece of paper. "I want blood samples from other creatures in the Constant. Merms, Pigs, Werepigs, and Depth Worms. I've already studied Hounds in depth enough. If you can, try not to kill the pigs, but I don't think you'll be able to reason with any of the others." 

APEX looked down the list. "FLUID EXTRACTION IS NOT A CHALLENGE FROM THESE CREATURES. I WILL NEED A STORAGE UNIT." 

"Take Ice Chester. Don't get them killed, please." 

"AFFIRMATIVE." The robot took the eyebone, and Wilson smiled at them. 

"Thanks for doing this. I mean it, it's a big help to me. And to Maxwell." 

APEX paused, another little blip in their programming, and then made a gesture like brushing something away. "CONTINUE TO MAKE REQUESTS INSTEAD OF DEMANDS. IT STANDS YOU IN GOOD STEAD, FLESHLING."

The robot left without further comment or even a goodbye, not seeming to think those were needed, only taking a few slabs of monster meat, both to bribe the pigs into giving up their blood and, presumably, to turn them into werepigs without the aid of the full moon. Wilson kept working at her desk a while longer, then went to get something to eat for herself.

Maxwell's blood, in the vial, had turned jet black. 

She stared at it for a second, then took the vial out and uncorked it, wafting the vapors carefully toward herself rather than smelling it directly. It still smelled like blood, with the same metallic tang. Just now it looked a lot like... nightmare fuel. 

Wilson bit her lip, grabbed lunch on the go, then exited her camp, forgetting to shut the gate behind herself in her hurry. She made a beeline for the nearest thick wooded forest, looking for enough evil flowers to harvest into sufficient nightmare fuel. Unlike Maxwell, she didn't leave that particular liquid lying around constantly. She had a most unscientific fear of the substance. 

She stopped by a savanna and captured two rabbits, finding it so easy at this point that she had plenty of time to overthink and worry simultaneously. 

"Okay. Okay, okay. Maybe it's not as bad as I think." She told herself, returning to base with the equipment, processing the petals into nightmare fuel and trying to calm herself with many hand-strokes through her luxurious thick hair. "Okay. Uh... let's see." 

She whipped up a quick pen for the rabbits, dropping them in. Then she made collars from leftover pigskin, dyeing one with berry juice, and leaving the other undyed. "You'll be Control... and you'll be Maxwell. Both given the same amount of food and water, kept in the same conditions... I should get a few planks, make a covered area... Hold on." She talked to the rabbits soothingly, going to secure their pen. In the winter, she knew their coats would thicken, and they would be fine for temperature, as long as they were fed regularly. 

Only, one of them was going to be fed nightmare fuel as well as food. She had a suspicion that she knew what was going to happen, but science was more about exploring hypotheses, not just picking the one she liked best. Then she jammed a sign in front of the pen, LIVE EXPERIMENT #42, DO NOT EAT. Often, visitors came by, and she didn't want to have to start over. Time might be of the essence. 

Wilson did other work, half to distract herself from the lurking worry about the implications of this research. Short of Wickerbottom herself, Wilson used the most papyrus, keeping her scattered thoughts in order, in an attempt to generate new technologies. She was working on small, handheld devices they could use to send telegrams over long distance - all she needed was a signal boosting device equivalent to a radio. 

"I could call it the... Telegram Interface. We can 'tele' each other, without the need for a courier. Communicate immediately when in danger, coordinate meetups, inform each other of forest fires or lack of supplies... or inclement weather." She made notes. That invention was incredibly helpful, in theory.

In reality, she hadn't gotten further than designing the housing for the device, and it sat empty and open-fronted. Maybe it was best that this experiment was still in the early design stages, because she had a pressing triage concern, now. Would it really help Maxwell to be told her blood had turned black? Or to hypothesize that the change internally might well be damaging her, somehow? Could she even give up nightmare fuel if that **was** the dangerous substance? 

Wilson rubbed her temples. "Too much guesswork." That, too, was unscientific. But reasoning, logic, these were her refuge in times of strife. If something could be understood, it could be anticipated, and ultimately mastered. Then there was no need for fear. 

She packed her backpack with necessary supplies, glancing skyward to estimate the likelihood of snow or rain, and then took a thick jacket and a thermal stone, just in case. Wormwood's camp was in a birch tree biome, and was easy enough to miss; one could walk right by it and not even know it was a camp. There was a single lantern strung in a tree, as Wormwood disliked being alone with fire, and many wild edible plants growing all over the forest floor. Wormwood themself sat at the base of one of the trees, petting a catcoon and crooning to it with burbling notes. 

"Science friend!" Wormwood greeted, waving with leafy fingers, "Hungry? Things for belly, all around." 

It was hard to even get near to the camp, for all the _belly things_. "No kidding. You've been really busy," Wilson picked a few carrots, a watermelon.. things that didn't need to be cooked, and could be eaten on the go. They'd just rot, if they weren't eaten, it was true. And Wormwood didn't get really ravenous themself until springtime. 

In Wilson's not-so-humble opinion, Wormwood was a genius choice for starter friendship with Maxwell. The little homunculus wanted to be friends with everyone, and, by their own admission, had been born in the Constant, so couldn't possibly hold a grudge against Maxwell for bringing them in. They was also the least threatening person in the Constant, probably. 

"Tweeters drop em," Wormwood indicated freshly planted seeds, "Lots and lots. Put em in the dirt, make em grow. All friends." 

The wild garden had a certain order to it, not rigorous, but not completely haphazard... whatever tools were in the plant's possession, were in backpacks, preferring them for storage over the chests because one didn't need to kill trees in order to weave backpacks. The catcoon yawned, stretched, and then jumped down as Wormwood stood up, wandering back to its nest in the rotten tree nearby. 

"Would you like to come visit Maxwell with me?" Wilson asked. 

"Yes." Wormwood said sincerely, picking up a backpack of their own. "Be good!" They told the plants as they left. 

The path that was painstakingly laid by many of the Constant's inhabitants helped make travel much more efficient, and once they were off the path, Wilson kept one eye on the weather and the other on pernicious tree roots. She was just about to comment on the darkening skies when Maxwell's fortress walls came into view once more. 

"Good," Even Wormwood didn't enjoy getting wet, sticking their long tongue out of their jack-o-lantern-jagged jaws. "Nice inside." 

The chests had all been moved out of the way, there was a roaring fire, and Wilson's temporary table of scientific equipment was undisturbed. There was a new table next to it, overflowing with food, candles, and hot cocoa and apple cider in wooden cups. The magician herself sat near the fire, cutting stacks of papyrus into narrow strips - so engaged in this activity that she didn't hear Wilson arrive. 

"Magic friend," Wormwood announced, sitting down near the fire and bugling a happy hello. "What doing?" 

"Oh - Wormwood. I'm making a tarot deck. Not my usual divination method, actually, but I've had a lot of success recently in branching out." Maxwell glanced up, meeting Wilson's eyes, and the scientist smiled encouragingly. She had obviously wanted to make a good impression with all the food, and organizing the camp. "Help yourself to the food." 

"Can touch?" Wormwood picked up the cut stack of paper when they got the nod, and shuffled through them, delighted. "Pictures! Like this one." They singled out the Lovers - two queen pieces, black and white, embracing one another on opposite checkered squares. "So nice." 

"--Thank you," Maxwell, like everyone else who spoke to Wormwood, had no choice but to accept the good vibes that the plantling gave out, as easily as Wormwood breathed out oxygen and took in carbon dioxide. Wilson smiled to herself and got to work arranging her equipment. 

"Like this one too." Wormwood said, making piles, "And this. Yes. Yes. Oh, no." They held up the Death card, pure black shadow holding a rose, wilting, shedding its petals. "Too bad." 

Maxwell took that card from them, bending it in her long fingers. "It doesn't mean actual death. Sometimes this card is just a warning that your old ways of doing things don't work, and that you'll have to make a painful change." 

"Sitty chair." Wormwood suggested. 

"Like losing the nightmare throne, yes. Gaining it was equally painful. Should I read the cards for you, Wormwood? Tell your fortune?" 

Wormwood's eyes widened, and then they thrust the cards back to Maxwell with pleasure, sitting up attentively. "Nice." 

Maxwell finished cutting the deck out, then shuffled the cards from one hand to the other to mix them all up again, with dexterity born from years of practice. Wormwood watched with all the thrilled attention of a child being shown magic tricks, even though the shuffling was basic cardistry. She looked up at Wilson, to see if her blood was required just yet, but Wilson waved her off to continue what she was doing. Bonding, a positive interaction with another person - this was exactly what Maxwell needed, Wilson was more sure than ever. 

The magician guided Wormwood's hand to the top of the deck, "Ask a question of the tarot." 

"How can help friends, for best happy." Wormwood asked, without even a moment to calculate. 

Maxwell looked bemused. Wilson sipped cocoa, watching them with a feeling of profound satisfaction. She might have lived all alone in the woods in a shack, but she was really coming to love the motley tribe in the Constant. 

Wormwood leaned forward as the magician offered out the deck, and drew three cards, setting them down and poring over them without understanding of the text. _They probably can't read._ Wilson realized, as Wormwood was only a few seasons old by now and didn't have much opportunity to pick up literacy. Maybe Wickerbottom could teach them. 

"This is what you can work on doing better. Ace of Wands, upside down," Maxwell interpreted helpfully, "You find it hard to understand your purpose in life. You want to hurry, make progress quickly, but you're still inexperienced, and there's plenty of time to find your niche. The Ace tells you to be patient, you have a lot of energy and enthusiasm, but you can't do exactly what you'd like to yet. Good things take time." 

Wormwood bugled softly. "Thanks, pretty stick. Who's this lady?" 

"This is what you already do well for your friends; the Queen of Wands. You're optimistic, friendly, and inspiring. You're - sweet, and charming." Maxwell's glance wandered to Wilson, who raised her eyebrows invitingly, but didn't tease at how awkward it seemed to explain to Wormwood that the cards were calling them a darling. 

"Very unscientific, but accurate." Wilson offered instead, leaning on the table. 

"Am sweet?" Wormwood repeated, delighted, and picking up the final card. "Thank you. --Sharp sticks. Owch." 

Maxwell set the rest of the deck aside. "The Two of Swords, the general overview, is a card of ... disagreement. Conflict going forward. It can mean a lose/lose situation, or that you don't agree with others about how to solve a problem. Because it's reversed, that means you're being advised to favor your own judgments, when the difficulty arises. Even if other people disagree, you should do what Wormwood believes is right, inside."

"Yes." Wormwood agreed, acting unsurprised and unconcerned by the possibility of future conflict, "I will. Nice, magic friend. Good magic." 

Maxwell bit her lip hard and failed to suppress a smile, shuffling the cards. "Shall I do your fortune, Wilson?"

"I make my own future." Wilson said good-naturedly, coming over at last with a syringe. "--Maybe just one." 

Maxwell held the deck out, and the scientist drew the top card. "Three of Pentacles?" She gave it back, "I was hoping for something a little more exciting." 

"This one says you're a team player, who recognizes the good works of others and bends all your energies to the best possible outcome." Maxwell bared her arm, the jet black skin giving Wilson another moment of pause, remembering the blood in the fridge. "You're not finished, by far, but this card says you have the ability to do what you need to, in order to succeed." 

"Right." Wilson took her blood and retreated to the table. "That's enough toying with the fabric of the cosmos for one day. Back to science."


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhere in the neighborhood of five AM, Wilson staggered into the tent in Maxwell's camp, and passed out. She'd made notes and had a (brief) examination of the new sample of Maxwell's blood: still purple. She'd also enjoyed engaging in conversation with both Maxwell and Wormwood. It didn't wear her out like formal occasions often did. She used to think she was an introvert, but these days she just thought she hadn't been mingling with the right people. 

Her sleep, despite real fatigue, was splintered and half-conscious with anxious thoughts. 

_What is under this earth? What is right below us, right under our hands? There are nightmares down there. The real color you should be looking for is green. It's right there! Is it ... who are They? There's a way to beat this thing, you just need to remember... you need moon rock. Maxwell's right about that much. We're all atoms, and atoms are all equal... but it's vibration that counts. Only vibrations. Green vibrations._

Wilson stirred restlessly, felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder, and woke with a start. Maxwell drew back warily. 

"It looked like you were having a bad dream." Maxwell volunteered, awkward, not quite apologetic. 

"I think we need to go into the caves at some point." Wilson sat up, rubbing her eyes hard. "I don't know what for. Something green?" 

Maxwell blinked, held one finger up for patience, and then exited the tent. When she returned, it was with a green gem, of the same size and shape as the more common red and blue ones. She handed it off to Wilson with no expectation of keeping it, "Lately, the caves have suffered seismic shifts. Holes opening to - deeper. Places that even I don't dare go alone. But if you're clever about it, you can recover these. They're new, and I don't know what they do." 

Wilson held the gem up, sleepily, and then looked over at Wormwood, who continued to slumber, and moved the gem to their chest, to compare size and shape. They were similar, but more compelling, the green gem Wilson was holding actually _resisted_ her attempts to make them touch, pushing away with invisible force like a magnet. 

"This is like Wormwood's... they don't want to touch. Polarized against each other. And you got this from underground." From Them? The moon - monster blood.. it was all too much, suddenly. Wilson put the gem down and cradled her own head gently.

"Are you all right?" Maxwell asked. 

"Headache." Wilson explained, rubbing her temples, "I need more sleep - I need - something else, I have to tell you, your blood? When I took the first sample back, it changed overnight. It went black. I think it's not the throne, I think it's the fuel. The book, the magic. I think you need to stop using it." 

The magician's expression hardened. "I wouldn't last very long without it," She reasoned, though it felt to Wilson more like an instant excuse, "I don't have the staying power of the automaton or the Canadian - I can't befriend spiders, I don't have any ghost alliances. The fuel is what I do."

Wilson rallied, "I'm concerned for you. I think it's dangerous." 

"So is your science. Radiation, explosive powder... poisonous fumes. Contagious diseases. I'm not afraid of knowledge, it shocks me that you are." 

Wilson reclined wearily, "I'm not afraid. You don't need to be _afraid_ when you understand things. You just need to... act accordingly, and use risk assessments. Will you take a break from using the fuel until I finish experimenting with it? Please?" 

"I'm sorry, Higgsbury. I use it for everything - if I lose my book I use fuel to remake it. My weaponry, my armor, my research, my guardians, all my workers. And whatever I want to explore in the future, I could get nothing accomplished if I didn't use fuel for it. What am I without it?" 

_Safe?_ Wilson didn't say so, didn't know, and turned away, pillowing her head in her arms. "Okay." 

Maxwell stared at the back of her head for a few seconds, then got up and left, noiselessly, exiting back into the predawn camp and making her way to the campfire. In the interim darkness, she felt the whisper of Charlie nearby, and - as ever - called quietly to her, and was ignored. She sat down in front of the fire, feeding it while shuffling the cards absently. 

What good were they really? There was no true power in alchemical, druidic or cartomantic disciplines. Why tell a future when you could write it? Why transform rocks to gold, when you could mine it without lifting a finger? The nightmare fuel represented success, represented protection and strength. And Wilson wanted her to give that up on a hunch, because of her blood being unusual. 

Because, in fairness, Maxwell had roundabout asked for her help with the discomfort of the new "moon."

How to go from the architect, the monarch, of an entire world, to ... this? Nothing? 

"I didn't want this for you," Maxwell promised, risking the fire almost dying to get that in, to hope Charlie heard it over the hissing howl of her potential attack, right before the magician kindled it up again and drove her back. She was out there, watching, intense as any heat with her eyes raking over Maxwell's skinny form. 

"I miss you so much. You were my only real friend over there." She kept the fire low, trying to encourage Charlie near, near-ish without fatality, shuffling still. "I think you were even starting to love me. And I didn't know when I first met you if I wanted to be with you, or if I wanted to be you." 

She could feel, almost imagine, Charlie listening. Hoped feverishly that she was right. The attempt by Wilson to get her to give up the nightmare fuel, that was throwing into sharp relief how little she had left outside of it. 

"How you called me Maxwell and never asked any questions, and accepted me. How you always spoke so gently, and seemed so in control of yourself, even off the stage. I felt like I could be myself around you, and I wanted to learn who you were, too. I still think fondly about those days, about you. They're good memories. You scare me now." 

She threw a handful of grass onto the fire to stoke it up, as the late autumn chill competed with her desire to keep Charlie close. "I'm sorry it came to this. I never wanted it for you... or for me. I didn't know. I can only apologize." 

And how could she hope to help Charlie if she was supposed to avoid using nightmare fuel? Preposterous. Unreasonable. No, Wilson was just overworrying, because it wasn't her pet topic. She hadn't even done a full moon cycle of blood tests yet.

If Wilson came back to her with proof that the fuel was dangerous and that she was likely to be worse off for using it, she'd stop. But there'd have to be some pretty solid evidence.

Especially with the baying and barking she was overhearing in the distance, there. As quick as breathing she'd summoned the shadow guards, who took up positions by the flimsy gate. Maxwell didn't make hound traps. She didn't waste her time with that kind of mundane planning. But there was an ice staff somewhere, and that would be helpful. 

Truthfully it still galled her that the hounds, her fondest pets, did not remember or acknowledge her. It lent an extra salt to being ripped apart by them. 

"Lock those gates." She didn't expect the dogs to be able to tear down stone walls, though they would attack them for a little while before losing interest... the gates were always flimsier.

"What is it?" Wilson peeked out of the tent, nursing one of her worse migraines, "Maxwell?" 

"Not a problem. We're perfectly safe. Go back to sleep."

"--You're using the guards? To close a door? Maxwell, what did we just talk about?" 

The Magician made an open handed gesture as if underlining a word written in the air between them, "That you're continuing to research my condition. If I stopped now I'd only ruin your results." 

"How--" Wilson retreated into the tent, with something that sounded suspiciously like _'how is that science.'_

Maxwell scaled one of the walls and stood atop it, squinting out into the pinkish pale light of dawn. There in the distance, leading five or six of them, so perhaps proportionally, they'd been thinned out by running through killer bee fields on the way here. She didn't interfere, leaning on the staff and watching them run around uselessly below. If any did get wise to the fragility of the gate, she planned to freeze them so that the shadows could do the dirty work of dispatching them. Thus far, though, they just threw themselves against the stone wall beneath her, barking with bloodthirsty intent. 

Everything in her world turned against her, and she wouldn't change a thing about getting off the throne even now - it would take a very long passage of time to dull the memory of that torment. But there had to be ways and means of getting better at mastering it from this angle, if only to depose Charlie. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the dogs did in fact get bored, running away through the trees without a victim to claim, this time. Maxwell climbed down and beckoned the guards over, trying to persuade them to drop their swords and pick up axes. This technique never worked, though. Once she'd created the mental schism, many of the guard types were just incapable of doing the other specialized jobs she required. But she was getting better at it. And soon, with more practice, she could see being able to spawn multipurpose servants, and branching out into other fields. These two weren't necessary, and the way Wilson had explained it, it ...perhaps was unnecessary to have called them. 

"Fine, go away." She banished them both, collecting the residue fuel, and holding that in her hands curiously, interested in it now from Wilson's perspective. It roiled and rolled in her grip, seeming to want to mingle with itself and with its holder. 

She glanced at the science table, putting the fuel aside, and then picked up the vial of her blood, examining it. It was still a healthy, beautiful purple in the dawn light. Absolutely nothing wrong with it. Turned black, indeed. Perhaps Wilson had mixed up the samples somehow and was waving around bottled nightmare fuel in a panic. She was an excellent scientist but what she understood about magic was far patchier, and -...

Well. It was nice to think Wilson was concerned about her welfare. But completely unnecessary. 

"Morning." Wormwood whispered it as they exited the tent, anticipating Wilson was going to sleep a while yet. "Brought seeds. Will give friends?" 

Grateful for the distraction, Maxwell showed Wormwood to a remote part of her walled-in camp where they could plant the seeds, and watched them do so while unconvincingly reasoning to herself that she wouldn't tell Wormwood how to plant, so Wilson really shouldn't tell her not to use nightmare fuel. 

"What are they?" She asked, more to make conversation. 

"Don't know." Wormwood admitted, "All sorts. Potato?" 

"I'll eat potatoes." Maxwell acknowledged. She'd eat anything if she was starving, honestly, but cooking took a lot of effort. It would be nice if she could get a little closer to Warly; he cooked amazingly. 

Wormwood spotted her berry bushes, and headed over to them. "Watch. Show trick, it's nice." 

"Err--I try not to eat them unless I'm really starving," Maxwell followed Wormwood over, "I've found maggots in them before. It's stomach turning." 

The little homunculus took Maxwell's arm, pointing to the almost ripe berries, and not the ripe ones, "See these. No wrigglers. Just wait. Now," And Wormwood plucked a few of the ripe ones, getting a handful and glancing at the dirt nearby, "Dig hole?" 

"Of course I can dig a--" Maxwell reached for her book, then bit her tongue, and turned to the tool storage instead. "--Just a moment." 

Shovel retrieved, Maxwell dug into the earth. It wasn't a fun time; the shadows made it look easy. She had to stop when she hit rocks, to change angles, but after a few more minutes. "Is this deep enough?" 

Wormwood leaned down, licking the dirt inside the hole, which Maxwell found both disturbing and fascinating, and then nodded, and deposited the berries, raking over the dirt and patting it on top comfortingly. "Berries like dirt with good sharp. Acid in it. Woodchips?" At Maxwell's headshake, they shrugged. "Will grow anyway. Good for keep alive." 

"Was that all it took?" Maxwell looked interested, "Shall we do a few more?"

The plantling beamed, and crooned as they went to go collect extra berries. Four more holes, and Maxwell was finding the labor satisfying, even if it was awkward to do and maintain her best suit. Wilson was up by that time, making breakfast, taking the opportunity to advise them to save a few holes for coffee plants. She missed coffee, almost as much as toilet paper, but usually only in the mornings. By afternoon she was sufficiently awake, and then of course she was awake long into the early hours of the night. The quiet hours were when she did her best work. 

"You're doing a lot of work." Wilson observed. 

"Yes." Maxwell wiped her hands disdainfully, "I can't recommend it." 

"I don't know, I enjoy it, sometimes. It depends what it is." Wilson thought about it, "Shaving beefalo is much more fun than I would have guessed. Shaving myself doesn't feel like work either." It felt nice, though Wilson was confident at this stage that if she wanted to walk around with a beard, she could do that too. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Not if it's about nightmare fuel." Maxwell cleaned off the shovel while Wormwood finished the last little dirt mound. 

"No, it's about ... clothes, I guess. You know the other day we were talking about skirts." Wilson had really warmed to Maxwell when that had come up, more than just taking pity on her captive circumstances in the Constant. The idea that Maxwell would go out of her way to encourage Wilson's exploration meant a lot to her. 

"Oh, yes." Maxwell seemed to recall, though it didn't look like it made half the impression on her that it had on Wilson. "What about them?" 

Wilson thought for a minute how to phrase it, packing away her things as she did. She didn't think she could easily upset Maxwell about this, but it was hard to tame the English language to get to what she wanted. Finally, she half asked, half stated, "You wear a suit." 

Maxwell's expression twitched into a grin, and Wilson immediately added, "Don't say 'it suits me', for the love of science. Oh, you were going to!"

"I like suits." Maxwell amended, contrite even with the unspoken pun, "I also like skirts, and heels. You should see me in my alchemical outfit--wait, haven't you seen me in that already? During that nightmare gladiatorial arena?" 

Wilson thought back. That had been a blur of mostly screaming and healing. "I think I was too busy trying not to die." 

Maxwell nodded, but cautioned, "Priorities, Higgsbury." She disappeared into the tent, rummaging around in one of the chests inside, and emerged a few minutes later cloaked in the purple and red splendor of the battle forge outfit. Hood, heels, and trailing tattered skirt, as well as leather armor that felt like an afterthought given to combat. 

"I'm quite comfortable like this." She admitted, "And my skillset means I don't need to move quickly. I _can_ run in heels if I have to, but look around you. If I break them, they aren't exactly growing on trees." 

Wilson made an agreeable sound, finding that she couldn't actually put the words together in any comprehensible format. She was just... staring at Maxwell, taking in every glorious detail of her form. She was still the same as before, and it wasn't even the clothes themselves that made a difference, it was just... the way she was now inviting Wilson, actively, to admire her. 

"Pretty." Wormwood volunteered a professional opinion in Wilson's stead, "I like it!" 

Wilson shook herself out of the spell and nodded, taking a steadying breath, both hoping that Maxwell hadn't noticed how severely that had thrown her off her game, and also not minding _too_ much if she had. "But, you should wear whatever makes you happy," That felt redundant, but she wanted to offer the support if it was helpful. 

"I do." Maxwell assured her, with pleasant grace, and strode by to one of the other chests, "Unless extreme temperatures or vulgar fighting compel me into wearing something ugly, that is. I think I look wonderful."

"You do." Wilson agreed, and then slung her backpack on, reminded suddenly of the press of time. "Okay, so, um. We're going back now, and I'll come see you again at the next lunar checkpoint for another sample. While we're waiting, I want you to keep doing what you normally do with food and other activities..." 

Maxwell shared an unspoken look with her about the fuel, and said nothing, but nodded once. 

"...But please come and get me if something happens that you need help with. If you feel worse." Wilson finished, putting a hand on Maxwell's arm as she passed. "I don't want you to think you have to deal with it alone." 

Maxwell fumbled for an adequate, dignified response, finding nothing came readily to her, and managed, "Generous." Which was neither promise nor rejection. Wilson left it at that, but Maxwell walked her to the gate and bid them both a safe journey, which was more than she'd done previously. 

"Had fun." Wormwood announced, "Water friends, ok? Might sleep until springtime. Bye." And the plantling hugged Maxwell, who stood stock still for a second, completely unsure what to do in response. Then, very carefully, she patted the single leaf protruding from Wormwood's head tendril. 

Wilson was very happy with the overall way that went, with the sole exception of Maxwell's immediate and total resistance to even temporarily easing off the fuel. She was still adamant about the throne being the culprit, Wilson supposed, because it was easier that way. And because - at least for Maxwell, and probably Charlie - this dimension's metamorphosis came with intoxication. She made a mental note to talk to Wortox about it, since the imp probably understood a lot more about magic's effect on the soul - two words, "magic" and "soul" that she was determined to lend scientific definitions at some point. 

Wormwood followed her to her own camp, rather than returning to theirs, and Wilson was somewhat concerned to hear noises from within. There was no one among the survivors who she considered a thief, or that she'd scorn the company of, but she was running sensitive experiments, so she hastened in.

It was Wickerbottom, accompanied by Wes. The mime _had_ apparently disregarded the sign, but Wilson didn't think petting a rabbit was going to disrupt the nightmare fuel experiment. If anything, it might make them more accustomed to handling, and make the administration of fuel easier.

"Hello, dear." Wickerbottom greeted, "I hope you don't mind that we stopped by. I had a few things to take care of, and some to drop off." 

Wilson was grateful to see one of the things was papyrus; she was running short. There was a small hemp bag full of shards of moonstone and gem - not big enough in their own right to be used for the various Constant devices, but Wilson had plans for them regardless. 

"You're free to come by anytime. Please don't feed the live experiments anything, though. It's okay to pet them!" She reassured Wes, who tucked the rabbit under one arm and made clockwise motions on their chest with one closed hand for 'apologize'. "I have plenty of wood and food if you want to stay the night." 

"That would be lovely." Wickerbottom set down a small book, "And this is for Webber. It'll be their birthday soon. The human part, at least. We're hoping to all contribute a few jokes for a joke book. Things they might not have heard before." 

Wilson investigated the book, reading aloud, "What do you call a solitary beefalo... beefalone. That's almost, uh. Who wrote that? Oh, it was Wortox, that ...sounds about right."

"They also wrote a three page rhyming epic that ends with a pun about mortal dimensional planes being nonsensical." 

"That sounds even more right." Wilson was fascinated, turning pages. "How many rings in circus? As many as fingers on clown! --Wolfgang, of course. These are all original - might be a stretch to call them traditional jokes. Wormwood, do you want to write some?"

Wormwood looked up from shyly cultivating one of Wilson's twig trees, not used to so many people all at once and unexpectedly. "Woodencha know, have seed, will travel...?" They offered, uncertainly, which Wes mimed laughing at. 

"Very nice," Wickerbottom encouraged. Wilson handed the book to her to record it, then she offered it back to Wilson for further investigation.

"--Oh, Science," Wilson had discovered APEX's page, unsigned, but it had to be them. Half of it was inscrutable binary and the other half was neatly penned 'INSERT PUNCHLINE' and 'INVOLUNTARY LAUGH RESPONSE CUE', and the word 'EGG' crossed out and then 'EGGx1012' written next to it. "You can't tell me APEX doesn't understand humor," Wilson showed Wickerbottom the page, "I do get that last one, I think, but it might be the worst joke I've ever seen." 

"Yes--is that what they want to be called, now? APEX? They mentioned something about appreciating 'a higher form of the art'. I think they might not know any traditional jokes, but Webber's going to be happy that everyone made an effort. Even Wendy kept hers away from the topic of death and dying, the darling." 

Wilson took the book over to her worktable and licked a bird-feather nib, tapping the tip against the table thoughtfully. "Okay... Let's see... How old did you say Webber's going to be? Thirteen? Probably can't make a joke about the irreversibility of natural processes and their relation to entropy, then... but maybe." 

Wes opened both hands in an encouraging gesture to proceed, rocking back on their heels with the rabbit tucked warmly inside their shirt. 

"I've always liked that 'time flies like a thermodynamic asymmetrical arrow, fruit flies like a banana' one, but it isn't original." Wilson added, "And it's why I usually use terms like 'plant science'. People don't like a lot of the big words you learn in graduate school, it can be a barrier to the enthusiasm of discovery." She kept thinking, then scribbled something down on a separate piece of paper, and showed it to Wickerbottom. "How's this?" 

Wickerbottom read it in silence, got to the end, and chuckled. Then she read it aloud for the other two. 

"Three spiders lived in a forest of conifer, deep in the woods where even pigs didn't go. Because it was so remote, they had trouble catching enough food even for their small colony. The first spider went far from their nest and came back with a few mosquitoes. The other two were very excited, but the second spider thought they could do better. When they came back, they'd managed to find a whole gobbler! The third spider left very encouraged, and gone for so long that the other two headed off to find them. They met the third spider coming back dragging half an entire deerclops corpse. 'How by Tesla's magnificent walrus mustache (this particular spider was very well read and had excellent taste) did you manage that?' One of the other spiders asked. 'It was easy,' Said the third, 'I saw this human with great hair (also a good taste spider) fighting it, and she softened it up for me!'" 

Wes immediately signed 'terrible', first finger to thumb and then both hands forward with fingers spread, grinning. It wasn't a very good joke, true, but it was an attempt. They were all attempting, and Wickerbottom was right, that was more important than perfection. 

The scientist put the bag of gem and rock fragments away, fairly happy with herself. "What else did you bring me?" She rifled through the supplies, pulling out - clothes? Something she didn't recognize at first, but - it was a dress! - a smile spread wide and her heart swelled a little. "Oh, Wicker. It's really nice, thank you." Wilson held the dress up to herself, "Stay here, I'll try it on." 

When she emerged again, she could feel the thudding in her chest, in her ears, feeling supremely comfortable and attractive. It was a linen wrap dress, very easy to wear, and plain but for the ruffle at the hem - it felt almost like a stylized lab coat, but somehow she felt incredible in it. 

"I love it." She said, "How do I look?" 

"Friend looks like a flower," Wormwood intoned, satisfied. "So sweet." 

"I thought it might be best to go simple with the colors, at first." Wickerbottom confessed, "When I was your age, and in that stage, I got carried away, oh, I wore all sorts of new, fun things. Heels I couldn't for the life of me walk in... But I had fun, looked stunning, and felt wonderful, and that's all that matters. These days, I like a lot of plaid. That could be in your future, dear." 

Wilson opened her mouth to ask a question, closed it, and then Wicker winked deliberately. _Yes, I'm queer, too._ Her mouth went dry and she glanced at Wes, who gave a big thumbs up in response. 

When everyone else had gone to sleep, and Wilson was the only one awake, she finally took the dress off, folding it up carefully and putting it away in a chest. She bit her lip against a surge of overwhelming, but positive emotion, unguarded as the veil of tiredness descended. She cried for a little while, and it felt good.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I anticipate the regular updating schedule going forward, and appreciate your patience.

Wilson managed to catch some sleep that night, waking to find Wes up and making breakfast. The mime signed that Wickerbottom (in their gestures, an open book and then with hands together, sketching upward to make a container shape), and Wormwood (one hand emerging from the other in 'grow', then a gentle stroking of a small creature), had already left. 

The scientist wasn't fully fluent in sign language of any region, but Wes had spent plenty of time around her and she was picking it up gradually. It was nice when Wes gently nudged her, pointed at something and then made a sign for it to add to her understanding. 

Wes made themself at home in her camp, getting her food and a form of coffee derived from baked plant roots, something that tasted just awful, but helped her when she honestly didn't feel like being a morning person (which was almost all the time). She drank it and reviewed her notes for various projects. A shower would be nice, but she hadn't even looked at the blueprints for Winona's installation. There was just too much to do. 

She was on her second cup of coffee when she saw the signal flare in the distance. Wilson set it down, got the mime's attention, and both hurried out of her camp together. Those flares weren't often used now that most of the island was mapped, and Wilson's bad feeling was confirmed when APEX came into sight on the horizon, dragging a broken leg behind them and pursued by the Bearger. 

One glance at Wes was all she needed to confirm that neither of them were prepared for combat with one of the giants, but Wilson was equally unprepared to let APEX die if she could help it. She kept bee boxes outside her base, relatively near the perimeter, so the Bearger would be at her base as its next port of call in either case. The scientist opened one of the boxes, ignoring the bees within to scoop two big handfuls of honey into her hands, and then turned toward the Bearger. 

Hopefully several seasons of stamina training would see her through. The giant - like most of the giants - fixated blearily on her and single-mindedly detected that she did, in fact, have something it wanted. A careless swipe missed her by inches, and then she was off across the path, not too fast to completely discourage the chase, but relieved to see the Bearger was no longer interested in APEX.

She led the giant a merry chase, washing her hands in a pond when she was relatively sure the Bearger was far away enough from the camp - and close enough to some wild bee fields to be more interested in those. By the time she returned to base, Wes had already helped APEX around the field of hound traps and safely inside, and gave an exaggerated swoon of relief at seeing Wilson unharmed. 

"YOU RISKED DEATH--KKZZT--FOR MY WELFARE." The automaton was prone on the ground, with Ice Chester panting happily nearby. "I HAVE YOUR BLOOD." 

"You risked it for my blood samples, so it seems fair." Wilson pointed out, approaching, "Can I look inside you?" 

"I WOULD PREFER NOT." APEX didn't move, though. "ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND - BZZT - MY INNER WORKINGS. NO STOPPING YOU."

"No stopping me from what?" Wilson asked reasonably, "We're all friends here." 

Silence as APEX worked through that, eyeholes narrowing. The machinery inside them sounded very ill indeed, clanking and grinding as if something had been crushed. There were a handful of punctures in the rough pattern of a depthworm jaw imprint. 

"APEX, I know it must be hard to be the only robot here. I know probably half of that 'destroy all humans' talk is just... discomfort. But look at Webber, right? And Wortox... and Wormwood. They're all not human. Even Maxwell, these days. And they're all family to me. So there's nothing to be scared of." 

"...HUMAN PACK BONDING PROTOCOLS," APEX wheezed, almost in despair, and not denying that they was afraid, "PROCEED." 

Wilson rolled them over, prying open their dented in chest panel. "Thank you. Wes, I'm going to need a few tools. And some replacement gears. Don't worry, I have plenty. Maxwell has no use for them so anything she finds in tumbleweeds or graves is mine to keep." 

"DON'T UNDERSTAND." 

Wilson thought it best to keep them talking, "I can try to explain. What don't you understand?" 

"ANYTHING." APEX looked up at Wes, upside down, as the mime brought back a handful of tools. Winona had managed to melt some of the moonrock into standard wrenches and screwdrivers, and had graciously shown Wilson the technique so that she could smelt for a lifetime.

"That might take some time." Wilson admitted, probing carefully at their voicebox. "Okay... stay still. I'm going to be as careful as I know how to be." 

APEX lay quiescent, as Wilson worked inside them, looking at Wes. "TEACH ME - SILENT ALPHABET." APEX requested, "EFFICIENT USE OF TIME." 

While they could do nothing else, their idle processes cried out for some kind of mental stimulation, for a distraction. Wes was only too happy to go through the alphabet letters, slowly, as Wilson removed and replaced parts. The scientist had to respect the construction that had gone into APEX, finding the assemblies made of robust, thick metal - no wonder APEX was hard to damage. 

"I was going to ask if you wanted the canvas joints over your pivots replaced with a more watertight construction material, but for right now I'll just replace what absolutely needs it. Wes, do I have a sewing kit handy? Some of these wires are cloth-wrapped..."

After an hour, Wilson was satisfied with her work, and closed up the robot's chestpiece. "You can try to sit up." 

APEX did so, flexing one hand carefully and then looking up at Wilson with wonder. The usually vacuous face had occasion to display emotions, and when it did, they were obvious. APEX was the ideal poker opponent. "EXCELLENT WORK, FLESHLING." 

"Thanks." Wilson recognized it for the high praise it was, and was delighted to imagine they'd made mutual strides toward a better relationship, because she honestly did love the robot's presence, and understood why they was skittish around organics. She gave them some space, backing off to investigate the blood samples at last. "Oh, you got me multiples of each! Thank you!"

"I UNDERSTAND THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD. MY CREATOR WAS A SCIENTIST. IT WAS HIS ONLY GOOD QUALITY." A subtle undercurrent of pleasure was yet rich in APEX's tone, and they looked to Wes, "THE SIGNALING TO SPELL EACH WORD IS INEFFICIENT." 

Wes nodded, then signed, pointing to their own chest, then to APEX, then gave a knowing wink and tapped their own temple, making an outwards gesture. They looked to Wilson, who wouldn't have spoken up without the invitation. 

"Wes says you're intelligent," Wilson explained, "And there are individual gestures for certain phrases and words, you don't need to fingerspell everything." She took a long drink of the coffee and then rummaged around in the samples, before heading over to give the bunnies their administration of food.

"I AM INTELLIGENT." APEX confirmed, softly. They watched Wes with rapt pleasure as the mime first spelled each word, then made the appropriate gesture for that word, and in this way added a few dozen more words to their own database in rapid succession. After each, APEX would mirror it back, occasionally with corrections for being too sharp, too quick, or too clumsy, and Wilson was happy to see them getting along, too. It might do APEX good to have some friends who weren't innately threatening. 

While the two spoke together silently, Wilson categorized the blood, pondering a whole new icebox to store it in, and tended to the rabbits. Both seemed healthy, but it was early days, yet. She only worried about Maxwell because she cared, and she worried about everyone in this group. They were all precious to her. 

Maxwell heard the gate creak and looked up from the arduous work of translating bits and pieces of the Codex. It happened to be easier when she was less lucid, for a number of reasons, but she worked at it whenever a spare moment could be found. If only there existed some kind of Rosetta stone in the ruins, or elsewhere... but such a thing was incredibly unlikely. Why should They have other languages to translate into - and if They did, what hope would she have of understanding those? 

In any case, she was surprised to feel excitement that Wilson had arrived again, but just as quickly disappointed to see that it was not. Winona stood there, careless of the darkness as ever, only just beginning to put together a lantern for the oncoming dusk. 

"So, Maxwell." Winona opened. 

Maxwell closed the Codex. "I thought this was going to happen eventually." 

"Maybe it won't be as bad as you thought." Winona approached and set the lantern down, "What do you think I want?" 

"Revenge?" Maxwell hazarded, though to close and put down the book was not a sure sign that she _genuinely_ feared violence. In any case, Winona looked curious, rather than satisfied by it. 

"Now, what would I want revenge against you for?" 

"For God's sake just out with it and stop toying with me." Maxwell had a shadow guard present, which looked up sharply at the tone and the way Maxwell was feeling, but held back from violence. They were well trained fragments of her mind, and they responded only to what Maxwell believed was a legitimate threat. 

Winona, for her part, looked satisfied, as if she'd found something she was looking for. In all likelihood, the limit of Maxwell's patience. It was not a well hidden secret. 

"I never got a chance to meet you before all this, and I know my sister really liked you. I'm just making up for lost time now. So, hello. I'm Winona." 

Maxwell had to make a concerted effort not to react, either in surprise or dismay. "Much has changed... many centuries, biology... of both myself, and your sister. I doubt however you felt about us before applies now." Dimly, she remembered the offer of a cabin, but it felt (and was) worlds away, another lifetime.

"Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Winona admitted. "Everyone seems to be focused on trying to live day by day here, and getting used to how it all works. I'm helping as much as I can, but I'm here primarily to rescue Charlie - and you." 

"..Me?" Maxwell repeated.

Winona leaned in, intent on being understood. "You both disappeared. A few papers said it was an insurance scam, that you were deep a lot of debt and wanted to fake your death, but that didn't make sense to me. Charlie wouldn't go along with it, for one thing, and she wouldn't let her family believe she was dead. Then when I really looked into it, more people had disappeared, and I started thinking you two were in serious trouble. And while I looked for you, I was hoping you were both keeping each other safe. I never blamed you. Then, or now. I still don't understand," She gestured to the Codex Umbra, "But it's not like you'd do this to yourself on purpose." 

Maxwell pushed the book protectively aside and out of reach, and with nervous energy deprived of anything to do, picked up a tattered raincoat and sewing kit, and started to repair it.

"I can fix that for you," Winona suggested, getting a roll of tape from - somewhere on her person. 

"This is fine. I take comfort in it." Maxwell returned, trying to focus on steadying her hands. All this time, convinced that Winona would be furious and unpleasant, only to culminate in something soft, and understanding, something that tugged very unpleasantly at the memories mostly eroded away of a past life. Some other person. 

Of course Winona meant no harm. She was speaking her piece, and Maxwell supposed anyone was entitled to that. To a point. She continued sewing, finding it would be impossible to translate the Codex and pretend to listen to someone's soul searching at the same time. 

"Are you hoping I'll explain it to you?" She prompted, about the Codex. 

"I'd like to hear your take on what happened." Winona returned, as levelly as any detective. Maxwell frowned, silent and gathering her thoughts.

"The book has magic. The ascended entities who operate this plane of existence used that magic to bring me and your sister forth, to this world. She is now similar, though different, to them, and _apparently_ has the ability to evict whoever sits upon the Nightmare Throne, and take it without being bound to it herself. Whether that is a function of her own power, or Them, growing tired of the old games, I don't know. But what I do know is that they take joy in corruption, and making others like them." 

"You think they've somehow turned Charlie evil." Winona tried to rephrase, for understanding, "That they've made my sister a bad person now." 

"She is an unrepentant murderer," Maxwell said blandly, "As was I when I was on the throne. You don't feel the same things up there that you feel when you're down here. It's like you're playing a game, with pieces, not real feeling lives. As for Them, They're very persuasive, and they never let you forget your purpose. But you know that you have to keep winning, otherwise there are consequences. They kept me at it for... a very long time."

Winona looked down, searching the ground for answers she couldn't find in Maxwell's idle acceptance of such a horror. "Is that how she feels right now? Like we're not real?" 

"--I think so. The only other one available to poll for former Nightmare Majesty is Wilson, and I have my suspicions about why her reign was so short." Maxwell closed a significant rent in the coat, biting off the silken thread with a tooth too-long and sharp to be human. "What does this help you, Winona? Even a difficult truth can sometimes be worthless, and better unexplored." 

Winona shook her head. "All truth is important." She argued, but it was distant, and troubled. She sounded sincere, just struggling to make what she could of this situation. Maxwell could almost pity her for it, but found her heart was slower to pity these days than before... 

Before was a taboo. And Winona had come in stirring up all the silt and muck and pain that lay untroubled by Wilson's blithe acceptance of who she was and what she had done more recently. 

"Maybe to you." Maxwell returned, short, "But I would sooner let things in the past remain. Of course I feel duty to Charlie, and I will aid in her rescue. I have no interest in abandoning her. But I'll thank you not to speak any more on the - 'William Carter' phenomenon." Maxwell felt, sincerely, as though William Carter was dead and buried, and in any case, no longer even remotely resembled that person, in thought, or in deed. She was in some ways wiser and happier, in other ways a good deal more damaged. But she could never return to that mold, just as adults returned to childhood places to find them ominously changed, smaller, less rosy than in memory. It would only cause pain, she was sure, to linger too long in this territory of the mind. 

Winona got up, rubbing her head, confounded but working through it with the same methodical patience she worked through the initial conspiracy, tracking down the Voxola phenomenon and arriving undercover to investigate. Yes, she could be calm, and Maxwell sensed despite her brash manner that she was perhaps more of a thinker than she might give impression of. 

"Why do you have tree logs and stumps all over there," She gestured to the great chaos that was the eastern pine forest, littered with pinecones and sundries.

"The puppets don't pick them up." Maxwell returned, "And I have enough firewood at the moment. I'll get it when I need it." 

She could **see** the L word trying to get out of Winona's mouth, and it wasn't the pleasant L word, either. She scowled pre-emptively at it, and Winona decided not to say it. 

"We don't all have muscles on muscles." Maxwell said, finding it sufficient not to demonstrate, "Though Wilson has gained some in her time here, I have no desire to strain something for the sake of --forest cleanliness." 

"If a storm comes and hits something all your earlier hard work goes up in smoke." Winona returned, and Maxwell was gratified to see the puppets did count as _her_ hard work. She also, annoyingly, had a good point. The logs might burn together outside the stone walls, so far away from any protective lightning rod. 

She stood, stretching fluidly, and then prowled to the gate, "Fine. I'll retrieve it and store it." Late Autumnal storms were not unheard of - that was why she was fixing the raincoat in the first place. 

Winona followed her, starting to help without a word, which she found strange. But she wasn't going to shun the muscle, and in any case, Winona seemed to enjoy it. 

"Wilson does look good, though," Winona said, unprompted, "She's a real babe." 

Maxwell almost dropped a stump onto her own foot, catching a thick root barely in time, "Err, do you think so." She set it aside and busied herself picking up pinecones, for ease of life and because Winona did not begrudge the heavier lifting. 

"Sure. This nature living is good for her, like you said, she's got some nice muscles now. Have you seen her arms?"

"No." Maxwell said, too quickly, "I - mean, I just find it obvious that after so much labor, she would have a better balance in body and mind." 

In short order, and with no further mortifying conversation about how attractive Wilson was, the wood was stacked against the ownership side of the stone wall, in neat rows, ready to be used and quite a storehold for just one person. 

"You're the resource manager, alright." Winona observed. "You think everybody else is doing as well as you?" 

"Everybody else is free to come to me to collect what they need, so long as they don't linger too long." Maxwell said severely, already thinking Wilson was a notable exception to this rule. "In return they can plant some of these pinecones. --For the most part, I find gardening boring." 

"I like it." Winona held out her hands for the seeds. "What part do you like?" 

With the memory of Wormwood's visit fresh in mind, Maxwell glanced to the berry bushes, which were pushing up small, unsure sprouts that she wished to guard with her life. 

"The part you can eat?" Winona guessed, and it was far from Maxwell's vulnerable state, so she gladly allowed it. Winona went to work replenishing the forest with new saplings, and when she'd finished, approached the camp again where Maxwell was cooking little bits of meat and spearing them with sharpened twigs. She'd taken the time to wax and buff the twigs so that they were close to actual cookware, but it was obvious that the 'live off the land' mentality sat poorly with her. 

Still. There was something about her expression listening to crows scream at each other from the stone walls that told Winona she was enjoying aspects of the Constant wholly unrelated to 'nature loving'. 

"I suppose you expect to be fed." Maxwell said, looking up at her. Winona grinned.

"I wouldn't say no. It smells good." 

Maxwell stirred the ingredients of the pot, "I'm hardly Warly, but I can manage a few things. Wilson taught me a trick or two." Maxwell instantly regretted bringing Wilson up again, but Winona didn't go back to pointing out the scientist's attractive features, thank goodness. Maxwell offered out one of the kebobs, and Winona snacked for a little while in mutually tolerable silence. The magician was still tense, though. 

"We're gonna get out of here, don't you worry." Winona assured, and that was similarly not something Maxwell wished to hear, particularly. She could sympathize with the former Voxola worker as much as she sympathized, at that point, with herself. 

"I'm not sure I could survive in the other world." Maxwell didn't want to have a vulnerable conversation in the least. "Nor could Webber, or Wormwood - a native to this land... For as much as they complains, I doubt the robot would have a good time, as well." And Charlie. That was a factor, but one she did not dare verbalize to Winona, of all people. Charlie might be, physically and mentally, the most altered of all. 

"There's got to be some way. You can't give up." 

Something about Winona's honest, homegrown determination made her irritable, or perhaps she was moving into the less favorable phases of the moon already? It felt like no time at all had passed, and when she was healthier in body and spirit, she did not care to ruminate on the times she was not. That was where Wilson was invaluable.

"I am not 'giving up.' Perhaps I simply don't wish to return. Did you consider that possibility?" 

Winona squinted. "You? You, of all people, who can't rough it even a single night without complaining?" 

Maxwell straightened up. It was possible, she supposed, to go down the road of outlining the disgust she had with the material world of Earth, and how complicated, polluted, unfriendly and demanding everything was. Yes, she certainly could lecture at another working class stiff about how everything that existed back there was only to give a very small fraction of the species any enjoyment... But instead, she smiled, and showed too-sharp teeth. "That sounds like a bet in the making, Ms. Winona."

Winona, having apparently been prepared for an argument, rather than a game, took some moments to recover. "A bet. Alright, sure. What do I get if you lose?" 

Maxwell had not thought that far ahead. "What do you want?" She maneuvered, more smoothly, "Since you take such satisfaction out of your physical labor, I wouldn't dream of denying it to you." 

Damn this woman, but Winona had apparently sussed her out, or at least had strong suspicions, "Tell Wilson you think she's cute." 

"How juvenile." Maxwell parried but poorly, "And what business is that of yours?" 

Winona grinned. "None at all."

"That's right." But Maxwell would consent to it, and pointed at her, "And if I win," Despite confidence in her victory being assured, she didn't know what to ask for, either. "....You must come to my camp and repair whatever seasonal damage is caused after the winter, to the walls, primarily. I don't think even the Deerclops will be able to breach my defenses." 

There was a worthy metaphor somewhere in there, the stone of Maxwell's camp and the stone of Maxwell's heart, but Winona was not the type to pick it apart, and so she nodded. 

"You're not going to win, so I don't worry." Winona said cheekily, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "I should get going. I'll meet you at Wilson's camp in two nights, and we can stage the competition then." 

Maxwell raised her eyebrows at that invitation, not sure if it was intended to drag her out of the comfort zone that was her solitude for better or for worse, but she was too proud and at this point, too blooded-fae to resist the challenge. "I will see you then." 

Winona left, and Maxwell kindled a fire for the night, and stared into it for a little while, watching it dance and pondering. A severely lost mosquito arrived to hassle her, and she slapped at it, grumbling. She soon forgot the issue of itching, however, when she realized the stolen blood smear on the handkerchief was as black as the skin up to her elbows. 

She could almost hear Wilson's worried, piping voice, so rich in its compassion; _How long can you ignore this, Maxwell?_

"In the Constant, at least until it kills me. And beyond." She snatched up the Codex and paged through it. The script, both maddeningly familiar and incomprehensible, did not yield itself to her.


	5. Chapter 5

APEX was both too badly hurt to leave for their own 'nomadic camp' hybrid lifestyle, and too proud to admit to this, so they lingered around Wilson's home base while expanding their knowledge of Wes' _langue des signes française_ \- though Wes was teaching Wilson and APEX a great deal more American sign language than French. APEX, meanwhile, practiced a sort of code-switching of signing what they meant to Wes, and then speaking aloud in their buzzing, vocoded way for Wilson's benefit, and Wilson found that she was also picking up more sign language the more APEX used.

Wes didn't ordinarily like to stick around other people's camps for _too_ long either; they was a voracious eater, and usually fixated on trying to make good for the resources demanded, whether it was helping to mind the children with Wolfgang, or here, doing chores that Wilson was too bored and fixated on science to bother with. So they was busily engaged with trap-weaving and general tidying, waving happily to Wickerbottom as she arrived with backpack of books in tow.

Wilson looked up from weaving the gem fragments and moon rock into a pair of gloves, something she hoped would stop Wortox's death touch, or at least curtail it until the imp could learn how to control their powers better. 

"Wicker," She was delighted, a little overwhelmed by all the company, but because she enjoyed and trusted the individuals in question, there was no sacrifice of energy the way there was at stuffy parties with stilted conversations. 

"Hello, my dear." Wicker greeted her with a forehead kiss, "APEX, I heard you were ailing." 

"I AM CAPABLE OF COMBAT." APEX flexed their neck, then signed along to Wes, 'healing' with both hands to chest, then making fists, then finger spelling numbers, "SELF REPAIR AT 76%." 

"They nearly died." Wilson said quietly, "I was a little careless asking them to get depth worm samples alone." 

APEX's hearing was too attuned to allow it. "YOUR PARAMETERS WERE NOT IN ERROR. I WOULD RATHER BE OVERESTIMATED." 

"I'd rather not send you to your death." Wilson protested. 

APEX evaluated Wilson. "YOU ARE NOT MUCH LIKE WAGSTAFF." 

"...Good." Wilson decided, uncertainly, "If he would do that, I mean. I like you." 

The robot froze for a second, announcing, "SYSTEM THREAD; EXCEPTION NOT HANDLED." 

Wilson smiled, deciding to let them alone with it, but after a second, admitted, "It's an exception for me too. I don't know if it's because everybody in the Constant is a little weird, but... I feel so much better around you all than I felt about anyone from home."

"SUBJECT; PITIFUL EARTH NATIVE MEATBAGS." APEX tried, clearly panicking, "--I WILL STAND GUARD." They hastened out of the camp to stand at the perimeter, and Wilson could almost feel sorry for having spooked them, but let them go to calm down if they needed it. 

"Poor dear." Wickerbottom said, "I hope they find it easier in time to get comfortable with us. But it's a work in progress. Just like Maxwell." 

Wilson appreciated someone else saying Maxwell could integrate into the greater community, even if Wicker thought she needed time to get there. It was nice not to be alone, or be thought of as naïve. Wicker hugged Wes and greeted them warmly as well, and Wilson thought that despite most of them having their own camps, they felt like a tightly knit family. This was what she'd been missing back home, and what she wanted to protect.

Wes got to cooking for everyone, Wilson alternated between doing busywork and looking up at the back of APEX's head, bothered by some feeling unrelated to the automaton... perhaps it was the chill in the air. She thought it might be that....

"I brought along my horticulture book. I thought we might go berry picking, and then before winter, I can reinvigorate the bushes once again, for emergencies." Wickerbottom offered, "What do you think?" 

"I think that's a great idea." Wilson returned, warmly, "What we should focus on developing next is preservative techniques, if we can make glass jars, and tins, we can preserve food for much longer. The firmer our food supplies, the better we can organize to save Charlie and take back the Constant." 

She was pleased to see Wes approved of that, with a big thumbs-up, because she wasn't sure _everyone_ did. Who knew why APEX was still here, and in fairness, what reason would they have to risk their tin for anyone else? Least of all Charlie. But Wilson felt she owed the Nightmare Queen, for having rescued her, and the glimpses of that soft, sad, worried face underneath... 

She shook herself out of reverie. "APEX. Want to go berry picking with us?"

APEX thought about it, already recovered sufficiently to manage, "AFFIRMATIVE." 

In a pinch, the woven traps could be turned upside down and used as berry baskets, and Wes outdid themself with skill and speed, grinning at Wilson's look of mock envy toward the rapidly growing piles. 

"How?" Wilson implored.

Wes signed, 'dexterity', and then, with a reflective addition, 'excellence'. 

It might have been her imagination, but she could've sworn that APEX was also looking at Wes for longer than casual glances. If the mime noticed, they made no sign, probably sharing Wickerbottom's school of 'time and gentle distance' thought. So many of them had been through so much already, and there was no real end in sight to the threats of the Constant, even though they were infinitely easier to handle as a group. 

It was almost as though she'd summoned the giant with her thoughts, or through some errant word or deed. The breathing was too familiar, and her hand clutched instinctively at a spear that was not with her, abruptly frantic at the thought of being unarmed and unprepared. The Constant was no longer the terror it once was, but some things didn't get easier, and dying was one of them. 

"Deerclops," She said, much more calmly than she felt, and APEX looked up with a mechanical 'rrr'. Still healing. Wes would be no help either, at least not without armor. She was already planning to ask Wicker to stay behind and summon a tentacle field, calculating how quickly APEX and Wes could make it back to her base, but perhaps it would be better to avoid leading the Deerclops in the direction of her experiments. At worst, she could be reborn much more easily than she could rebuild her work. 

Instead, APEX shrugged off their backpack, pulling on rough hewn log armor, and requested, "STORM." 

Wickerbottom dug into her own pack, "If you feel up to it, dear." 

"Wait, what? You can't be serious, you're still unwell!" Wilson didn't know who she was imploring directly, or which of the two was less receptive to her medical opinion. 

"You worry far too much, and it's kind of you, but you can't do everything yourself." Wickerbottom reassured Wilson, turning to the appropriate page in _The End is Nigh!_

Above, storm clouds began to gather. Wes tapped APEX on the shoulder to get their attention, and signed 'careful, careful', with repeated emphasis. The robot allowed the closeness for a few moments, then turned away purposefully stoic, moving to the center of the field and lifting a spear high. The rumbling of the thunder shook Wilson's chest, settled into the very heart of her, and drowned out the sound of the Deerclops' advance, which was almost worse than being able to hear it coming. 

Wickerbottom stepped aside, trying to keep out of range, but with APEX presenting the tallest target, the lightning felt no inclination to strike anything else. A bolt from the heavens invigorated the automaton, briefly lighting up their frame with dancing electricity, and APEX straightened up as if coming completely awake. 

"AGAIN!"

Another bolt struck the spear's tip and coursed down through APEX, like an answer to the challenge, to be dispersed into the grass at their feet. Rain lashed the onlookers, and Wilson snapped out of her hypnotic trance, taking Wes' elbow, sure that they should do something, but not sure what.

"AGAIN!" 

APEX suffered two more direct strikes, beginning to smoke from within, but the delight that shone in their expression belied any discomfort. 

"NOW, INFERIOR CARIBOU UNIT... DIE." Thick with static, beginning to court the derangement peculiar to the Constant that allowed for a peek behind the veil of dimensions, APEX began to run. It was faster than Wilson had ever seen the robot move, almost faster than a bipedal creature should physically be capable of, almost throwing themself forward into the next step, with the spear clutched in one hand like an afterthought. The Deerclops came into view in the wind and rain from up ahead, and Wickerbottom leaned on Wilson, more than slightly fatigued herself.

"Goodness, this is always quite a strain." She managed, and Wilson held her tight, trying to offer some comfort while desperately scanning the area for some alternate means of defense. What could they do with no weapons and little environmental strength? Berry fields didn't offer anything that would inconvenience or even distract the giant. She felt a fool for going out without preparing for battle, just because there were no spider nests nearby and the last hound attack had been very recent.

Deerclops had engaged the tiny, ballistic android, sweeping a wall of ice into their path, but they blazed so hot that it melted the oncoming snow into deadly water and slush, and their cry of pain and indignation pulled hard at Wilson's heart. She took Wes' hand and gave them Wickerbottom's arm to support. 

"Get as far away as you can. Head to core camp, tell Wolfgang we have a situation. You'll probably be too late, but we might be able to make use of a touchstone or an effigy even if you can't get a heart. Please take care of each other." 

Wes only paused a moment, their instinct to acknowledge that Wilson was in danger as well, but they knew that she wouldn't be dissuaded, and so they started off along the path. Wilson broke into a sprint toward the giant and the tiny robot. 

APEX, soaking wet and sparking actively, was busy digging the spear deeply into the Deerclops' chest, vocoder howling with primal fury, and the Deerclops grabbed for the offender. Ice climbed along its grip to freeze APEX's limbs, before bowling them with violence into one of the nearby boulders, which exploded into rubble with the force of the projectile. Wilson skidded to a stop, ducking to scoop up a now convenient stone, and threw it hard at the Deerclops. 

"Hey! Over here!" She turned, regretting that all her weapons were back at camp and that was absolutely the last place she wanted to lead it, but at least now she had its attention. APEX pushed up off the remains of the boulder, fingers twitching spasmodically. Wilson doubted very much if APEX was plugged into reality at all, at this point. The lightning combined with the Deerclops' own "terror aura", as Maxwell had once described it, was enough to push anyone down to the lower limits of their stress threshold. 

Wilson darted back and narrowly avoided a stream of ice, furrowing the ground nearby. She kept moving, more slowly than she wanted, keeping the aura in mind - she could feel her grasp over her own anxiety slipping bit by bit, the longer she stayed near it, but she was well fortified from the outset, and she kept backing up, trying to think of a better place to lure it. The Pengulls would aggravate it. Pigs, as well. Beefalo stood no chance, and she very much did not want to render them extinct. 

Lightning was still brewing above, striking randomly now that there was nowhere for the storm to centralize. Wilson stood no chance at all alone, or even with APEX. She circled around the nightmare creature of ice and hatred, pulling up APEX by one arm. The robot was physically in full working order, but mentally unable to recognize what was going on. 

"WILSON?" 

It was the first time she'd heard her name from them at all, unbidden from that voicebox.

"It's okay. We're in this together." 

The Deerclops kept its single minded attention on them as Wilson, half carrying APEX, pushed into the swamp. Mosquitoes buzzed, and bit at her, and the ground was uncompromisingly marshy, but it was the locals she was hoping would do the trick, and they didn't disappoint. Merms, summoned by the sound of destruction and trees toppling, exited their crumbling abodes to defend whatever they had managed to cobble together. Even Wilson was moved to sympathy, but it wasn't like she'd deliberately made the Deerclops do what it did. It just... showed up, and rapidly became the whole Constant's problem. At least in the swamp, there were tentacles to assist the merms. 

Wilson nearly ran headfirst into - a small Merm who was watching the chaos with interest and no apparent fear. She was a baby, or looked like one, and while Wilson was willing to allow adult Merms to reap the whirlwind of the Deerclops, she had a certain degree of scruples peculiar for an Edwardian scientist. She scooped up the baby. 

"Hello, sorry about this, we have to be going!" 

There was no biting or screeching, the baby just cooed a startled agreement. "OK--?" 

Apparently innate hostility toward non-Merms was a learned mechanic, and Wilson didn't mind hightailing it with her through the swamp, APEX holding her other hand while their processor de-rezzed, and eventually coming to a densely wooded forest. APEX's internals were running overtime, steaming lightly in the evening light, and the Merm baby climbed down from Wilson's shoulder to try to make sense of what she was seeing. 

"Ironfolk." She tapped on their chest. "Tiny one. No hurt." 

Wilson supposed she must have referred to the chess people. Then, all at once, the realization of what that meant came to her. "Your people - you can talk - you have culture. You're _sapient._" 

The tiny Merm was not nearly as blown away by this as Wilson. She glanced back in the direction of the swamp, and Wilson had her second revelation, this one horrific flavored. "Oh my Tesla. I kidnapped you. Ohhh, I'm so sorry. I panicked." 

Even as she tried to mentally organize an immediate promise to return the child to her people, Wilson realized she couldn't get the baby home _right this second_ without venturing through the swamp at night, which she very much did not want to do. Her camp was long distant on the other side, and hopefully Wes and Wickerbottom were approaching this with tactics. Hopefully, in retrospect, the Merms in the swamp were too. 

"Were they your family? The -- you probably don't call them Merms, do you." 

"Mermfolk." She corrected gently, as if Wilson were a decent student, "All us big family." 

Wilson felt an even more immediate stab of guilt, running further calculations. With the help of the tentacles... which had neither cute familial relations nor cute snub nose little faces, then it was possible the Deerclops hadn't totally decimated the Merm village. "Well, uhm. The Deerclops, I mean..." 

The child didn't seem in the least bit concerned - either too young or too sure of the Mermfolk's abilities. "We know. Been long time in swamps. Forever and ever." Then she scooted to APEX, who viewed her with trepidation unfitting of her tiny stature. "What Ironfolk name?" 

"--APEX." The robot looked to Wilson, who shrugged, and in retaliation, also introduced her, "THAT IS WILSON." 

The Mermfolk patted her own chest. "Wurt." 

Wilson got up and started pulling in rocks to make a campfire, realizing they weren't terribly far from where Wigfrid lived, which was a huge relief if the Deerclops did manage to track them through the whole length of the swamp. Wigfrid would not only vigorously defend her people with courage and skill, she would also eat the fallen enemy with gusto, and Wilson worried about her dietary decisions while not being able to influence them at all. 

APEX seemed to be coming out of their system shock, recovering with a short headshake, and got up to assist with the fire making. "WE MUST RETURN THE LARVAE TO THE VILLAGE."

"I know. I know. But not in the dark. It'll have to be tomorrow morning." 

"WHY DOES YOUR COMPASSION CONTINUALLY CREATE ADDITIONAL COMPLICATIONS?" 

Wilson stoked up a roaring fire. "No idea, but it does." She had no intention of quitting, either. 

Wurt settled down near the fire with absolutely no compunction or unease around either the 'Ironfolk' or - whatever Wilson qualified as, in her eyes. She wondered abruptly if perhaps Wurt's people saw her as just pig-like enough to present an automatic threat. Disturbing thought, and one she wasn't keen to share with anyone else. What had Maxwell said about the Mermfolk? They were there before she'd come along, and she hadn't made them. Maxwell hadn't made a lot of things, including the Depthworms and the Ruins, and Them, of course, but 'They' didn't seem keen to create at all, only destroy. 

Maybe that was part of why they detained people from other dimensions, for the sake of constructive entertainment - They, and Their agents, did seem to target eccentric types, stage performers, imaginative engineers, and Wes, but there had to be more to it. She didn't think this little one could provide her with answers, at least not purposefully, but that didn't matter. Something terrible had happened in this dimension a long time ago, and while it couldn't be undone, if Wilson could understand it, she had a hope of preventing future tragedy like it. That was the foundation of healthy science, after all. 

"Tell stories?" Wurt asked, breaking into her thoughts and looking hopefully from first APEX, then to Wilson. Either of them would do, it looked like. 

Wilson obligingly sat back and opened her coat pocket to dig out some squashed berries. "Okay. What kind of stories?" 

"INTENTIONAL LIES." APEX ventured. "ONCE, AN EVENT THAT DID NOT HAPPEN, OCCURRED. THE END."

Wurt let out a quiet but delighted laugh. "You bad at it. Tell good long story. Make night shorter... make road shorter." 

Wilson paused, feeling more compassion for the Mermfolk than she ever had in her life. Not that she'd hated them before, but they had been frightening, like everything else here before she'd come to recognize them. 

"Once there was a group of goat people who were kind and friendly, to the survivors who visited. There was a city, bound by interdimensional planes, and it was ruled by a ravenous entity--" 

"THIS IS NOT AN UNTRUE STORY." APEX interjected, and was shushed by Wurt, who looked fascinated. 

"What ravenous?"

Wilson mentally adjusted, "Very hungry. All the time." At Wurt's nod, she continued, "The people who came were just trying to get home. So they fed the ...Eternal Gnaw, because if it wasn't fed, it ...seemed... to-..." 

She stared for a second at Wurt's little horns - one stumpy, even at her tiny age, but unmistakable in origin. "It seemed to turn the goat people into Mermfolk." 

Wurt did not, again, seem terribly shaken by this information. "That big sky mouth. Mermfolk say thing... long time ago. Yes." She touched her own horns unself-consciously, reminded of their presence, and then looked back at Wilson. "Did people get home?" 

Wilson thought about it, and could tell at a glance that APEX wished to say 'NO', matter of factly, but she thought it was a little more complicated than that. 

"Actually, I think they're still getting there."


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning found them all curled around the fire, shivering in the cold. Wilson had rarely felt so poorly prepared for a winter since the very beginning, but she didn't waste time on recriminations. APEX was up early, hunting for food, and returned with four rabbits, two gobblers and a few carrots. They triumphantly dropped the meat in front of Wilson like a hunting cat proud to put a mouse in a shoe.

"CONSUME." They encouraged.

Wurt turned up her nose. "Don't want it. Poor dead things." 

APEX looked confused, making a visual appeal to Wilson, who shook her head. 

"Just give her the carrots, okay?" She could sense that further pushing might result in something even worse - anger, or tears - and she didn't want to make Wurt cry over this. "I know it's hard, Wurt. I don't really like killing animals to survive either." 

Wurt closed her eyes to avoid looking at the dead animals as Wilson stripped and cleaned them, and ate the offered carrots in silence, evaluating her new friends somewhat more poorly, Wilson feared. 

"UNIT MERMFOLK IS THE REVERSE OF THE VALKYRIE." APEX decided, "BOTH UNITS ARE MALFUNCTIONING BY REJECTING SERVICEABLE ENERGY." 

"It's their choice." Wilson explained, "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it. And thanks for getting a few gobblers, too. The rabbits by themselves are really gamey." 

APEX shrugged on a backpack and filled it with what few supplies could be scraped up in the deep forest, seeing no need to log or mine. "LET US RETURN THE OFFSPRING IMMEDIATELY." They suggested. 

Wilson got packed as well, and then looked to Wurt's tiny legs. "Do you want a piggyback ride?"

"Don't like pigs! _Hate_ pigs!" Wurt protested with such immediate vehemence that Wilson was taken aback. 

"It's just an expression..." She preemptively hushed APEX, as they had a look about their face like they was about to say something inappropriate. "Never mind. We'll get you back home now." 

The walk was quiet and more strained than the previous night had been, now that Wilson was aware of the missteps and mistakes she'd made, right from early on. It was probably a combination of the lack of sleep and the hyperfocus she was giving to all the small projects - the texting machine, the shower, Wortox's death touch, Maxwell's nightmare fuel, emergency reserves for winter? It was all so much. And she was scolding others for rejecting help while she was one of the primary culprits!

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" APEX asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" 

"YOUR EXPRESSION. I HAVE LOGGED IT PREVIOUSLY AS GUILT." 

Rather than be annoyed, Wilson was quite impressed. "Hey. That's not bad. I was just thinking about how I give hypocritical advice." 

"OH." There were no words of comfort from the automaton, just acceptance that it was not an action likely to further complicate their situation. The merm houses came into sight, rickety as ever but intact, and Wilson waved goodbye to Wurt, sending her off with a few carrots and a spare backpack, since she seemed to like them. 

"IS IT SAFE TO SHARE TECHNOLOGY WITH THESE HIDEOUS ORGANICS?" APEX asked, at least waiting until Wurt was out of earshot. 

Wilson wasn't sure, but, "If you give a Mermfolk a backpack, they'll carry things for a day, but if you teach them how to make one, they'll - hike all their lives? I don't know. It can't do that much harm, though." 

They came across the corpse of the Deerclops not long after, huge and magnificent even in death. Most of the fur was already perversely dissolving, or Wilson would have experimented with Deerclops pelts a long time ago. She did cut out the eyeball and several hocks of meat, though, glad that Wurt wasn't around to see and that the swamp dwellers were nocturnal, so they wouldn't be likely to interrupt. APEX made a few quiet noises of disgust, but wasn't about to reject what they considered 'SERVICEABLE ENERGY', so consented to carry the bulk of it. 

"I hope you're feeling better. Mentally," Wilson specified. 

APEX didn't answer, looking unsure. There was no real way for them to quantify that kind of question, and not because they had no means of measuring their own mental health. It was probably because Wagstaff hadn't treated them as a person at all. 

Wilson let the silence settle back over them both, but then unwisely observed, "At least it's not snowing." 

At once, small snowflakes began to gather into flurries in the air. 

APEX gestured skyward. "SHE CAN HEAR YOU."

"Right." Wilson put a definitive check mark by 'needs sleep' on her own personal checklist. Of course Charlie would answer challenges, ironies and so on. "Well, at least--" 

"NO." 

They gained the berry fields in a matter of an hour, including the swamp's clearance, and Wilson was pleased to see their work was intact and not too moldy for the extra day's absence. Across the field, she saw Wes heading toward her at speed, accompanied by a tall, familiar silhouette. 

"Maxwell, Wes. Everything's okay. We're fine." Wilson reassured, and APEX absently repeated these things in sign, both to themself and to Wes. 

"It is my understanding that you were attacked by the Deerclops." Maxwell observed, and then more severely, "You were not adequately prepared with weapons or winter clothing. What happened?"

"I don't really have an excuse." Wilson returned, sheepishly, "You'd think by now I would know better." 

Maxwell exchanged a glance with APEX. The automaton did not pile on Wilson, instead taking a few seconds to process and then admitting, "I WAS EQUALLY AT FAULT. IT IS NOT WILSON'S SOLE RESPONSIBILITY. WES AND WICKERBOTTOM ARE ALSO TO BLAME. 25% ERROR FOR EACH INVOLVED PARTY." 

"I should hope it wasn't your lack of focus on your own wellbeing, Higgsbury." Maxwell looked back at Wilson, "You do too much. Far too much. You must--... delegate." 

Wilson took the critique in the spirit intended, knowing that Maxwell was more concerned than she was letting on. "I think it's partly getting complacent because everyone has worked together so well in the past." She added, "But I'll manage better." 

That seemed to be good enough for Maxwell. She scooped up a berry basket and silently began the trek back to Wilson's camp. The scientist followed, intrigued about why she'd left her base to come to Wilson's, but she didn't comment or pry, in case it was related to her medical condition. Wilson believed strongly in patient confidentiality, even in the Constant. 

"MENTION THE TADPOLE." APEX agitated from behind. "PUPPETEER. THERE IS A SENTIENT MERM IN THE SWAMP. SHE IS A VEGAN."

"They're all sentient." Maxwell said, dismissively, "And they're all vegans, as well." 

Wilson was powerfully inclined to ask more questions, but decided to table that alongside her earlier question, and closed the gate on their little party with some relief. APEX appeared to be residually annoyed that nobody was telling them anything without being directly asked, but they got over it after a few minutes of rapidfire signing back and forth with Wes. The mime was straightforward and open, and it looked like APEX appreciated those things more than other traits.

Maxwell sat down. 

"So, what do I owe the pleasure of your company? To." Wilson asked, keeping her voice down. 

"I'm not at liberty to say." Maxwell looked off. "Winona will arrive tomorrow and ask you questions about my conduct. You must answer them honestly." 

This sounded more worrying to Wilson than anything else she'd heard from Maxwell recently, short of 'won't stop drinking nightmare fuel.' "Did you two have a fight?" 

_Nearly._ Maxwell didn't feel it was fair to worry Wilson further. "Not really, no. She wants to leave the Constant. I don't. As for what that has to do with my conduct, I can't say without unfairly biasing the results. Consider it an experiment." 

Wilson brightened. "I'm a test subject?" 

"My God. That just ...lights you up," Maxwell observed, with creeping pleasure, "You're so very unique, Higgsbury. Are you making food?"

Freshly reminded, Wilson went to start drying the Deerclops jerky, enlisting APEX's aid when she realized exactly how much meat it was. They'd gone out to get berries, after all, but this was vastly better. And no one had died, which was always a win in Wilson's book. She considered asking about the moon phases, but she had that written down somewhere, so there was no reason, and for a moment she wasn't sure what conversation to make. 

Maxwell made it for her. "It's a pleasure to see you again for a non-business reason, pal."

Wilson smiled reflexively, "It's nice to see you too." She said, and meant it, "You're always welcome to come see me. Any time." 

It was obvious the magician was happy to do so, and to be welcomed, for all she said Wilson's face lighted up, the pleasure on her own was undeniable. She stretched, and relaxed, as if glad some burden was lifted, and then seemed to remember, digging into her pack. "I brought you several stacks of ...things. Some firewood, some stone. I prefer if people come to me and then they can take whatever they need so that I neither have to guess nor expend the energy to lug it to them. But in your case..." 

Wilson looked innocent, as if they hadn't just been almost-flirting, and as if Maxwell hadn't urged her to take care of herself, as well as others. She thought about pointing out that a lot of her experimentation involved fixing problems and helping the whole unit survive more effectively, but she knew Maxwell also had a point. 

"Oh, do you want to see my new dress? Wickerbottom brought it for me. She's lovely, and everyone's been so supportive. It's the first time in a long time I've actually cared about clothes - naturally, I will forever love top hats, no one can take those away from me, but I've had such good luck recently with dresses and skirts." 

Maxwell folded her legs, resting a hand on her knee and looking the picture of restfully attentive. "Show me." 

Science might be her first love, but Wilson was flirting now with gender expression, and Maxwell was both amused and resigned to being a part of it. When Wilson exited the tent all dressed nicely, Maxwell looked her up and down with approval. 

"Good. You even carry the shoes, though I can't say it's a conventional match." 

Wilson looked down at her shoes, gravitating toward what Maxwell had said about moving through terrain. "I think if I can get a chunky heel, I can probably negate some of the balance issues..."

It was a small, companionable group that night, under the stars and close to the protective auspices of the campfire. Maxwell watched them and entertained the illusion of objective immunity. They were all misfits; the robot struggling to process complex emotions like love while fighting off simple emotions like fear. The mime, so unusual, so weak, so _gentle_, had been especially disturbing to her. Something about them, something that reminded her of ... different times. 

Unlike the William Carter epoch, which she wished to avoid generally, there were landmines in her memory which she knew _not_ what. Foggy, dreamlike places of nostalgia, of powerful fellow feeling. The little Wendy child was one of these. Poor wan necromancer, and something in Maxwell's heart twisted just at the thought of her, at having let her down in the resurrection of Abigail. But those who died outside the Constant were of a different breed to those who died within. Anyway. As to memories, she would prefer to make new ones than risk excavating the rot and bones of the uncertain old. 

She caught Wilson's eye, beckoning hopefully, and the scientist padded to her, leaving the robot and Wes to sign in mutually agreeable silence.

"Have you had any more luck with the blood?" She asked it quietly. She might regret bringing it up, but it wasn't as though Wilson was likely to _forget._

"Oh, APEX got me samples. I've been running them through a battery of tests. And the rabbit-Maxwell I've been looking after is asymptomatic, but it's still too early to tell - uh, the short answer is, I don't _know_ yet, but that also means I don't have any reason specifically, concretely, to worry you." 

Maxwell supposed that was about as good of an answer as she'd get. The march of Wilson's science was a slow, stubborn, determined thing... but it would eventually find the weak spot, the loose thread, and unravel the whole business. She knew that from experience. 

"It's weird how the Deerclops drops meat, though, and not monster meat. The same with the werepigs - they drop uncorrupted flesh, despite being changed by the corrupted kind." Wilson pondered. "I have so many questions and so few answers. When I first came here, I was mostly concerned with survival, I had to accept - things I didn't want to accept, like the full moon metamorphosis. But there has to be a logical pattern, I just can't see what it is yet." 

Maxwell opened her mouth to caution Wilson against APEX and Wes hearing, but Wilson was as aware as she was of the need for personal privacy, and nodded in understanding. No explicit mention of Maxwell's own problem. 

"The pattern is that which lies close to the ground, I'm afraid. The hounds, like the Depth Worms, and tentacles, are subterranean."

Wilson paused, taken aback by the simple, elegant answer. "I never see them down there." 

Maxwell shrugged. "And yet, when you destroy a mound, do you not see a tunnel? Perhaps they don't burrow deeply enough to actually reach the caves - my interest in creating them was less for their biology and more for their loyalty, I admit. But I think the things of the earth absorb the horrors within more readily than creatures of the air, or the Giants... or even the pigs." 

"What about the bunnies? --The rabbits, too, and the moles--they're safe to eat and they live in, and under, the ground." Wilson was trying to poke holes scientifically, and Maxwell appreciated the thoughtfulness.

"I think there's a hidden variable... the large bunnies don't eat meat at all, like the Merms. Carnivore diets tend to corrupt more quickly, because the higher up the food chain, the more concentrated the elements of the earth become - in your language, anyway." 

Wilson reflected on this. If she found a change in werepig blood from the regular kind, it would probably support that hypothesis, or if through the direct feeding of nightmare fuel, the Maxwell-Rabbit began to bleed similarly to Maxwell herself... She didn't hope that would happen, not least because she had no idea how to fix it. The werepigs did seem to work it out of their system in time.

"It's all very confusing." She admitted, "There are a lot of variables. So many mysteries. How am I doing with your experiment?" 

Maxwell smiled despite herself, and glanced away, "Fine. You're doing fine." 

Wilson stopped to take notes, her tongue out slightly in a blep as she set a stack of loosely bound papyrus aside. Maxwell picked up a stray piece, reading 'Hounds - underground - sun averse? - solar/lunar influence - gravitational pull... must investigate!' in Wilson's abominable, endearing handwriting. Everything about her was endearing. 

In a quiet moment, Maxwell could almost say everything she'd suffered to get here was worthwhile. _Almost._ Wilson wandered back to the other two, engaged in a silent signing conversation of enthusiastic gesticulations, keeping up admirably with APEX and Wes both, and Maxwell remained at the outer edges of their campfire. 

If they did remain in this world, she knew what had to be done. They would have to oust Charlie, and somehow retain control of the Throne, of the Constant, and erect wards - barriers, of a sort - against Them. Initially, she wasn't sure it was what she'd wanted, but... watching Wilson laughing at a mimed joke of Wes', and the robot rapidly looking between them in an effort to parse it... 

This was as good a place as back home to be lonely, and being around Wilson felt drastically less so. 

The others turned in, even APEX shutting down for a defragmentation period, with the reminder that Maxwell never slept. Wilson curled up close to the fire, exhausted after the recent trek, and Maxwell found a blanket for her as soon as she was confident Wilson had dozed enough that to be covered would be no disturbance. In short order, she covered Wes as well, and then spent the rest of the night admiring the alien sky and its constellations. She hadn't put those there, and she could therefore evaluate them without the critical eye of a creator that saw only flaws in their own work. 

The next morning, Maxwell watched the rest of them awake and begin the activities of the camp, preparing food and extinguishing the fire. She missed being able to consign herself to oblivion in sleep, but it came in handy when they needed someone to mind the fire, and the trust was good. She'd spent the night perusing the Codex by firelight, and she'd come across something very interesting. 

"Wilson. You remember when you mentioned 'something green' in the caves?" 

Wilson nodded, the nightmare a faint impression as she approached and peered over Maxwell's shoulder. "Oh-... Huh." 

The Codex wasn't in color, but the gem depicted on the page was cut to the precise facets that Wormwood's was, and there were sigils and marks all over the page that Maxwell understood to be negative ones. 

"Understand that They don't --react the way we do to pain, fear, and discomfort. They are perpetually in a state of delighted violence from curiosity, corrupted utterly by the fuel." Maxwell had to admit that much, though she knew herself to be different, "So there aren't even words in their language for danger or hatred, except as it pertains to the "Moon", which checks their power, and to --this." 

"But the green gem you brought me wasn't cut the same as Wormwood's." Wilson noted immediately, "The faceting has to be important as well. Look, it's drawn from multiple angles but it's the same gem shape - an oval brilliant, I think they call it." 

Maxwell frowned down at the page, "So it is." 

"Facets emphasize crystal structure." Wilson observed, almost to herself, as she cooked breakfast for them both, "You know why gemstones are cut?" 

Maxwell hazarded, "Light refraction. For jewelry." 

"Right. They call it scintillation, in physics. It measures luminescence. I think the blue and red gems are cut in such a way that they bend light into temperature." 

"It's magic." Maxwell teased, "We'll say so. Go on." 

"There's no way that Wormwood's gemstone and the one in your book are cut with exactly the same facets coincidentally." Wilson said seriously, scooping out a healthy portion of honey and oatmeal from the crockpot, "Here, breakfast. Careful, it's hot." 

"WHAT ARE WE DISCUSSING?" APEX finished their camp assist, and approached Maxwell without any sign of discomfort. "THE PLANT UNIT?" 

"In a sense." Maxwell quite liked the fact that APEX didn't seem bothered by her, even though she would admit she had no right to expect it from most of them. 

Meanwhile, Wilson went to retrieve an ice staff, and a fire staff, having both to hand, and examined them side by side. "They're cut differently from Wormwood's, but the same as each other, and the same as the green gem you showed me from the caves." Wilson concluded. 

"THIS IS SCINTILLATION ANALYSIS?" APEX asked readily, "FOR WHAT PURPOSE?"

Wilson thought about it, and concluded, "I really don't know. Wormwood has some connection to the Codex Umbra, I think. Their gem is listed in the book as dangerous." 

"THE BOOK IS ALSO DANGEROUS." 

"And so are you." Maxwell was defensive, but not overly so.

"THANK YOU." APEX paused, "WORMWOOD'S MANNERISMS DO NOT INDICATE AN ATYPICAL HOSTILITY TOWARD THE SHADOW-FORMS." 

Wilson tapped her temple with the ice staff. "That's exactly what I was thinking. But every time I try to quiz them on their origins or purpose, they don't seem to know how to give clear answers."

Maxwell paged through the Codex, frowning. "Perhaps we should pay them a visit, and show them this. I am eager to know why they was created."

"EVERY INORGANIC BEING IS CREATED WITH A PURPOSE." APEX was agreeable, "AND THE PLANT CREATURE, DESPITE BEING ORGANIC, APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN CONSCIOUSLY CREATED."

Wes tapped Wilson's arm, then indicated the staffs in her possession. They mimed taking a gem off the top, and then screwing in a new one, laboriously, and then waved the invisible staff around, pointing to the green gem that Wilson hadn't yet attached. Their meaning was clear, at least to the scientist.

"I don't actually know what it does yet. The green staff, you mean. And I don't know if it would have similar properties to Wormwood's... We should try that, too. I need to get a nice thick branch for it. Who's up to go visit Wormwood?" 

"I MUST ATTEND TO MY OWN SUPPLIES." APEX bowed out, exiting, catlike and having had their fill of human company. Wes shrugged, but then slung a companionable arm around Wilson, and Maxwell got up and closed her book, tucking it away inside her coat. 

"I wouldn't expect too much," She warned Wilson, to caution against disappointment, "But if we do discover why They hate this particular gem, we may be closer to reclaiming the Constant." That was what Wilson wanted, now, wasn't it?

"I'd like that." Wilson agreed, but she was looking right at Maxwell when she said it.


	7. Chapter 7

The Constant's harsh (but more-or-less predictable) weather encouraged Wilson to pack sufficient supplies, by now providing thermal stones and warm winter wear to Wes and Maxwell both. Winona met them on the way to Wormwood's camp, sauntering up in her usual devil may care fashion, and greeted all three of them pleasantly. 

Maxwell felt a surge of utterly overstated pride that she had won the bet as soon as Winona asked how things had been. 

"Oh." Wilson grinned, tapping the side of her temple, "The experiment Maxwell wouldn't tell me about. I think it went well, but I'd love to know what it was about. I don't have anything to report." 

"She didn't complain? Not even once?" Winona pretended to be astonished, but it was obvious she wasn't taking it too hard, "Well that's a shame. I guess you get off light this time, Magic Hands."

"I hope that name doesn't stick," Maxwell remarked, "I won't hold you to our bargain, either. Proving the point was enough." 

Winona shook her head. "My word is my bond, and I don't shy from hard work." At Wilson's mystified expression, she explained, "I promised Maxwell if she could go one day without complaining, I'd help fix up her camp after this season." 

Wilson let out a quiet 'ohh' of understanding, and too late Maxwell realized what her damnedable scientific curiosity would drive her to ask next.

"What did you get if you won?" 

The expression on Maxwell's face, a concerned squint in Winona's direction, drove her along with sympathy to reply, "Can't say. Maybe I'll get it anyway, one of these days. You like betting?" 

"Gambling is a statistically terrible thing to engage in, so I never did," Wilson said cheerfully, "The closest thing I do is swap spare outfits with that strange clothing seller, and most of the time I even regret doing that." 

Wormwood's camp was much reduced from when Wilson had passed through it before, with the winter making most plants dormant and bare, and those which had been growing previously now slowed their rate considerably. But the light snow that had fallen before was not sufficient to bury the green of the camp, and Wormwood, accompanied by Wortox, was very happy to see them all. 

The plantling was less happy, but not fully perturbed, when Maxwell opened the book and showed them the page.

"What do you think it means?" Maxwell asked, and Wormwood gently took the book - something that Maxwell probably would only have allowed from Wilson or themself - and set it down on the ground to better peruse the entire page. 

"Is a good way in. Last writer big spooky, quick startle! Like a squee hopper." They gestured vaguely in the direction of nearby rabbit holes, but their eyes never left the page. It was as if they had finally found something they had been patiently waiting for. "Friend stick please." 

Wilson offered Wormwood a stick, as requested, exchanging a look with Winona. 

"Is it magic?" Winona asked, "The entire book, I mean?" 

"Magic is the science of the soul." Wortox acknowledged, as Wormwood began to scratch little symbols into the snow's crust, and eyed Winona knowingly, "All scientists on this plane benefit already from hybridizing, _hyuyu._" 

That reminded Wilson, and she rummaged in her backpack to offer out the gloves she'd been working on. "By the way. I think I've managed to sew a deadening grid of gem and moonstone shards on these gloves, it should be able to stop you potentially killing whatever you put your hands on. I'd test it on a rabbit first, though, not a person." Meat effigies were quite cheap with their established camp network, but it was still an unpleasant experience. 

Wortox's eyes widened as they took the offering. "For me, the gift of gentle touch? How sweet, I thank you ever much. You're very clever, science one - and here I thought your hobby wasn't fun!" 

"Fun is relative." Wilson took the ribbing in good spirits, seeing how obviously taken Wortox was with the simple idea that they could touch someone without hazard, and looked back to Wormwood, who had by now carved out an impressive amount of those symbols all around in a rough prism. "Wormwood, can you actually read this?" 

"Sure. This paper was for me." Wormwood was serene, "Opening door. Finally! Whew." 

Maxwell, understanding the possibilities inherent in the Codex, actually stepped back, "The book itself functions as a portal, but only by Their will."

"Hmm." Wormwood straightened, brushing their leafy hands off, and then strode into the center of the prism. Their chest gem began to emit a particular humming light, one that even captivated Wortox.

"Hohoho, we'll see some fireworks now. I've been waiting for this!" 

There was no time for Wilson to contest what the imp did or didn't know about Wormwood's nature, because the air around the homunculus was beginning to ripple as if under intense heat, and then abruptly... split. A rift opened between Wormwood and the others, through which Wilson caught a glimpse of another world, with luminescent fog and a distant mountain peak unlike anything she'd seen in the Constant's other worlds.

"It's not home." Winona said, sounding a little disappointed. 

Wilson couldn't share her feelings; to the scientist, the new dimension was both beautiful and an opportunity to learn more. The fog moved like will o the wisps, collecting in spheres and proving incredibly enticing. What were they? Were they sentient? From a glance at Maxwell, she was unfamiliar.

"What is it for?" Winona quizzed Wormwood. 

"Get to sitty chair." Wormwood answered promptly, starting to fill up a backpack of their own as if they intended to leave relatively soon. 

Winona took perhaps the wrong cue from that comment, "Then we can rescue Charlie." 

The portal showed no signs of closing, and Wilson was about to suggest they return to her base to get supplies, glancing at Wes to see if that opinion was shared, but Maxwell intervened in a somewhat-successful attempt to mask irritation with rationality.

"It's not going to be as easy as rescuing her from the throne, I fear. If what Wilson says is correct, she isn't even bound to it. I suspect she is a willing pawn, at this point... They will have stoked her anger, pain, and betrayal to levels alien to all who knew her." 

Winona glanced across at the tall magician. "If anyone can snap her out of it, it's the people she loves best. Right? That's you and me." 

Maxwell said nothing, but it was obvious she thought the possibility of success in this matter was slim. It was equally obvious, at least to Wilson, that she was going to do it, warnings or no warnings. She just had to grumble and point out any problems first. 

"We can't all go, the mouths to feed! Besides, who follows, and who leads?" Wortox asked reasonably. 

"Agreed... I'd like it if you stayed here to watch the camps and help out," Wilson decided, taking an automatic leadership role. "And Winona's also right - the people who care about Charlie most should go. Wormwood?" 

"Am going." Wormwood explained, "I gotta do it." 

Wilson considered that good enough, and looked to Wes. The mime did a bold double armed flex to display lack of muscle, and then saluted merrily anyway. 

"You can still carry supplies, gather and make things, and revive people who need it." Wilson agreed, "But I also think Wortox is right, we have to keep the numbers down. So what kind of person are we missing...?" 

Maxwell looked around at the party, indicating each in turn. At Winona, "We have an engineer," Then a nod to Wilson, "An innovator," Directed toward Wormwood, "Food management," A pause, touching her own chest light-fingered, "Myself, both a magic and resources expert, and... Misc," That last, to Wes. "We lack someone versed in combat." 

That was Wigfrid, Wolfgang, or APEX. Or perhaps, in a pinch, Wickerbottom, in Wilson's view. "I'd like to leave Wigfrid and Wolfgang here, in case there are giant attacks. Someone has to help protect the children while we're gone, it's going to leave the whole island very short staffed." Wilson admitted. "And I've seen APEX fight, they was originally designed for exploration and combat. With a few upgrades, I think they might be the best we have." 

Maxwell looked at her levelly, "For proven threats. Don't forget I watched you handle everything I threw at you and more. If the robot won't come, we still have a very good chance at reaching Charlie..." She trailed away, and then sought to smother Winona's hopes out of pity, "Physically, anyway." 

"Say no more, I know the score. I'm keen to find the machine - and I'll inform the rest of the swarm. Thanks again for the gloves, I'm sure they'll be handy." Wortox teleported out of the camp in short order. 

Wilson looked back to the portal with determination, "Okay. We reconvene here in an hour. Everybody bring enough supplies for a few days. Time did seem to stop out here when I used Maxwell's door, but this," A gesture to the portal, "Is a different variable." 

Winona was eager to go and collect what she needed, and Wormwood was content to sit by the portal, crooning an affirmative when Wilson asked them to wait there for everybody else. She didn't think they'd go off on their own, but it was best to reassure them, as she had done with APEX, that everyone was in this together. 

Maxwell visited core camp, not her own. She always carried sufficient nightmare fuel, and her book was the only other thing that she felt she really required these days. Rather than spend the hour scrounging for supplies that may not even have been of assistance, she sought out Wendy. The child was sitting near the ashes of the camp setting flower petals alight for the ashes required to make healing salve. Maxwell sat on the log beside her, watching in companionable silence as the flames licked at the flowers and consumed them, providing the smallest embers of warmth in this blistering cold wasteland. 

Wendy's gaze was empty and disinterested, and after a few minutes, she looked up at Maxwell inquiringly. 

"I'm going away for a little while." Maxwell said, "Not forever. I don't think. Unless the entire party perishes together." 

"That could happen." Wendy picked up the ashes and put them carefully into a container where they wouldn't blow away. "Everyone has to die eventually. If you die together, it's better than dying alone." 

Maxwell thought about it, and then answered, "In this dimension, possibilities are wider. Space is four dimensionally accessed. One can finangle multiple existences." 

"Are you robbing St. Peter to pay St. Paul?"

Maxwell laughed. "How old are you?" 

"Nine." Wendy reached out, impulsively taking Maxwell's hand, which shone jet black against the white snow and Wendy's own fingers, small and squeezing tight. "I understand. You're saying goodbye in case you can't, later. Whatever happened to you in life, you're trying to make it right now."

"I'm - sorry that I couldn't bring Abigail back." Maxwell fumbled over the touch, supportive, over the emotion, feeling massive, destructive, swallowing. 

Wordlessly, Wendy climbed up into her lap, and hugged her tight, and hid her face. Maxwell let her arms circle Wendy with less halting astonishment than they had with Wormwood, feeling that she was the anchor to an ocean of Wendy's grief, and she stroked the young child's hair and felt more than heard the silent, wracking sobs. Not just grief for her family, but pre-grief for what she anticipated was Maxwell's death, as well. 

"I don't know who you were to me before." Maxwell spoke meaninglessly, letting the cadence of her words carry, quiet nonsense; the pointless vibrations of the living. "But I did know you. You're familiar. All that's happened, and I couldn't forget you entirely. Dimensions away, years, decades.... all the pain. There are stronger things than death, Wendy." 

The child cried for a little while, and Maxwell didn't rush her, but once Wendy pulled away to re-assemble her serene dignity, she asked - in an attempt at calm - who was accompanying Maxwell. And Maxwell told her, explaining Wormwood's strange connection to the Codex (insofar as she understood it herself), and Wendy nodded solemnly, taking heart only when she heard Wilson was coming. Wilson was, in some ways, the soul of the party, and the one least likely to quit if someone else could be saved, or helped. She knew that through personal experience. 

"I have to go now." Maxwell said, insufficiently, "Be good for Wolfgang, and for the librarian." 

Wendy was already mixing the ashes in with the spider innards, getting herself on with business. "Goodbye." 

Further words of reassurance felt useless. She returned to Wormwood's camp and the waiting portal, and sat beside it, using the remaining time to try to fathom anything useful about the rip in spacetime or what she could see through it. She was deep in meditation and attunement, to the point that she barely noticed Winona returning, or APEX's mechanical step. 

"PUPPETEER." APEX solicited loudly, and Maxwell opened one eye. 

"Coming, are you?" 

"AFFIRMATIVE." APEX did not see fit to give any rationale, defensive or otherwise. Maxwell likewise didn't push, respecting that the automaton was offering help without condition. She suspected there _were_ vulnerable reasons, but she didn't want to guess at what they were. 

"It may be very dangerous." Maxwell closed her eye again and resumed deep, even breathing. 

"THEN MY PRESENCE IS REQUIRED." APEX glanced at Winona, "YOU ARE SYSTEM BACKUP." 

Winona grinned, and flexed. "I'm not bad, it's true. Still wouldn't want to be responsible for protecting everybody alone, I've gotta sleep sometime." 

Wilson was the latest to arrive, with Wes in tow, having had a lot to do at her own base to ensure it wouldn't fall apart in her absence. She held up a small bowl toward Maxwell as she approached. The contents were inky black. 

"This was Maxwell-Rabbit's daily blood sample," She said, holding it out for the magician's appraisal. "Do you think you can come with us and lay off using the nightmare fuel, or are you going to have to stay behind?" 

Maxwell stood up, stretching, and working to avoid displaying her unease. "I'm afraid I can't promise anything whatsoever. The fuel may be necessary. Was the rabbit otherwise... unhealthy?" 

"Well, it was afraid of me, and the other one's acclimated to being handled." Wilson set down the liquid by Wormwood, who peered into the bowl curiously. "I just-... have a bad feeling." From her expression, she knew 'a bad feeling' was not scientific proof, and Maxwell magnanimously did not pounce on the idea. 

"So, the nightmare fuel turns mammalian blood black, or purple. Whichever; it's good to have that confirmed as not the throne's doing, but it's a trifling side effect. And if it's causing emotional disturbance - it's no worse than caffeine," Maxwell didn't really want to specify it was causing _her_ emotional disturbance, or the degree of severity, in front of all these people, feigning that she meant the rabbit, "And fuel is a great deal more useful than caffeine to us. So you'll be coming with me, and monitoring me, and that will be much safer, in fact, than us being at different camps and you seeing me only a few times a month. Don't you think?" 

"Well..." Wilson trailed off. "I guess so. Yes." 

"There." Maxwell tried to raise her spirits a bit by adding, "Lighten up, pal; it's an emergency skill, I plan to dig my own graves and cut my own trees." 

Wilson did brighten a little at the idea that Maxwell might be taking it more seriously, and then looked around at everyone. "If we're ready, should we go?" 

There was nothing left to do; APEX entered first, Winona and Wes following, Wilson and Maxwell after, and then Wormwood. Wilson was not pleased to discover that Wormwood's entrance closed the portal behind them. She didn't have time to worry about it, thankful that the supplies they took were not dropped on entry. Chester sat panting happily where the exit had been, and Wilson opened the little storage creature to distribute papyrus to everyone.

"Okay. We'll branch out in teams of two. Winona and Wormwood, APEX and Wes, and Maxwell - with me, please. We'll explore in three different directions and meet back here in two nights with our findings, and cover the territory three times as quickly as we could have done alone, and with a buddy if anything goes wrong... and for night shifts. Sound good?"

"It sounds really good," Winona observed. "It's hard to believe you were some kind of crotchety hermit back on Earth." 

"Uh, well," Wilson started, looking around in a pleasantly embarrassed appeal, "That's fair. Good luck, teams!" 

Maxwell found it almost impossible to tell how much of that enthusiasm was feigned or a conscious decision not to be glum about the circumstances. She fell into line behind her companion, watching the shorter scientist wander near the new island's edge and occasionally make broad scribbles on the paper. Gradually she assembled an idea of the island's southern tip, based on the direction of the setting sun, and holding up the paper so Maxwell could see it. 

"Something tells me this is Charlie's configuration." Maxwell indicated the nearby ground, where moss barely covered polished stage floorboards. The stage was connected to nothing in particular, it just emerged from the dirt nearby like a new form of turf, and there was a large, heavy trapdoor in the center. Wilson being Wilson, immediately grabbed for the ring pull and opened it. 

"How many times will that curiosity be the death of you? And you say I don't take care of myself properly." Maxwell observed as Wilson started down the stairs, lighting up a torch. 

She had more robust forms of light, but she didn't particularly want to waste them yet. Maxwell followed her down, hearing the motion and snuffling of - something, in the dark, but it was impossible to say how large the underground area was. In any case, Wilson's torch didn't illuminate the walls. 

"I don't want to speculate," Wilson observed, "But I wonder if this is the place where... you bring retrieved Things to advance to the next world. Then again, Charlie didn't appear to give any kind of greeting or instruction, so it feels like we're already doing it differently. I wonder what that noise is." 

"Most people in a dark, enclosed space would wonder that with a little more concern." Maxwell observed. "Of the two of us, my shadow guards - and you - are the only real fighters." 

"That's fine." Wilson was remarkably agreeable. "It sounds familiar--oh--" 

The sound scuttled closer, and then abruptly there was the stagehand, sitting just at the perimeter of the circle of light. Wilson gave the torch to Maxwell and headed over, happily exclaiming, "Oh, it's you! Hi!"

Maxwell used the light source to inspect, not getting far away from Wilson but keen to understand the dimensions of the enclosure. "It amazes me that you haven't tried to study the stagehand in more detail." 

"Oh, I have. It's very shy, though. If you try to shine light under the cloth, it moves away, but it doesn't lift a finger if you get right up to it in daylight and mess around with it." 

"Did you just--" Of course Wilson had punned about it. "All right." 

"I think we should base near here." Wilson admitted, taking back the torch. "It feels really important for getting closer to Charlie, in the way that the pedestals were before, for getting closer to you." 

"I don't have any better ideas." Maxwell headed back up the stairs. "We might be able to make some better lights down here and see what we're working with..." 

"What's wrong?" Wilson came up behind her. 

"It's stuck." The trapdoor. Maxwell shoved a few times before moving aside to let Wilson attempt, with equal result. 

The most important thing was not to panic, and Wilson checked supplies, flint, tinder and all. "I'm gonna make an axe and try to break it down from inside. You take the torch and see if there's another way out of here."

"Making an axe in the dark?" Maxwell accepted the torch again regardless, with nervous energy and irritation. 

"I can do a lot of things now that I never used to be able to do." Wilson reassured, "Anyway, it's not the first time I've fallen for an obvious booby trap, and it probably won't be the last. Don't worry, we're getting better at this." 

Maxwell rubbed the bridge of her nose, and took the steps down more urgently.


	8. Chapter 8

Unfamiliar birds sang in the trees. APEX logged them in memory banks, not because the robot cared about bird species, but because it was useful when the birds grew silent to check for external hazards. Some things, they had been programmed for. Some they knew instinctively. Some, they had learned only through experience. 

Despite agreeing with Wilson pairing them off into three sets of individuals who were combat-and-not, APEX did not relish the idea of protecting, or being responsible for Wes. They found themself caring about the mime in a distracting and disconcerting way, and Wes’ physical weakness could only disadvantage them both. Perhaps it would have been better if the mime had been left at the original base, along with Wormwood and Wilson herself. Maxwell’s intel made up for her inferior strength, in APEX’s view, and Wigfrid would have been very welcome as a partner against whatever hideous organics existed here. 

Wes led, and APEX fell into step behind, hollow eyes scanning the middle distance. Paved road made the journey faster, but APEX saw no human endoskeletons. While that was a relief, in some ways (as APEX did not relish the thought of meeting new bio-organisms less palatable than Wes), in other ways it was... troubling. Who had constructed these roads? 

They stopped. “WES.” 

Wes also stopped, looking back and cocking their head questioningly. APEX tried to organize the concern internally, but largely failed, indicating the path, instead. “WHO BUILT THIS.”

Wes shrugged, getting down to line-of-sight the path and see how straight and level it was. They got up, dusting themself off, and then signed to APEX, ‘machine excellent’. 

APEX did not grasp that low hanging compliment, but it warmed their insides all the same. “THAT IS WHAT CONCERNS ME.”

They continued on in mutual silence for several minutes, and then APEX slowed by a rabbit hole, curiously. The indigenous life-forms rarely strayed far from the safety of their burrows, but this one had no small mammal in evidence. APEX had been fine tuned to notice errata, spying also a glint within the burrow that was attractive to them. Gears, perhaps?

Without alerting Wes, who wandered on a little ways, APEX got down and began to dig with both hands in the little rabbit hole, wondering if perhaps it had been a grave whose marker was old enough to be completely destroyed... And then black, gleaming vines wreathed in thorns reared up from the hole and wrapped bodily around the robot. 

APEX verbalized a BSOD screech, followed by a more comprehensible “HELP!” 

Wes turned back, identified the problem as something completely new, and scrambled toward them, unslinging an axe from their belt and taking a mighty swing at the colorless shadow vines. Wes could at least see them, which put them at less of a threat than the creatures from Beyond, who stood opposable only by those who had called them forth. Even in this panic, APEX recognized that, while also noting the flint axe passed through without any effect. 

The vines were dragging them down into the hole, despite their best efforts to resist - digging furrows into the dirt with the phenomenal effort. “NO NO NO NO NO--”

Inspiration struck, though not to save themself. APEX tore the backpack from themself and threw it toward Wes, aware that they had been carrying the lion’s share of the heavy supplies, and recalling what the scientist had said about Wes being able to revive a fallen friend who could not revive themself. It seemed more like ominous, awful foreshadowing now, and they could not offer any reassurance either to Wes, or to themself, as they was dragged down below. All was black and crushing dirt, suffocating to anyone who needed to breathe, though APEX experienced only a slight uptick in CPU heat at the sudden lack of ventilation. Their last sight of the surface was Wes’ panic stricken face. 

The mime didn’t waste a lot of time in idle emotional extremes. They gathered up supplies, erecting a small wooden sign by the hole that read _DANGER!! THORN-MONSTER,_ if any of the other four should chance to come that way, and then shouldered the heavy backpack, staggering from the weight but setting off with determination in every step to rescue the automaton, of whom they had grown very fond. 

If APEX was dead, they had a ghost to anchor them to this plane, and could be revived, hopefully. But if they was merely damaged, they had given the bag with all the gears held in reserve, (among other things), to Wes. The mime mindlessly snacked on jerky to sate their ever-present gnawing hunger, and continued a thorough canvas of the local area. This was going to be risky, but they had no time to circle back and find Winona and Wormwood, or Wilson and Maxwell. They would have to stage a rescue themself, and that meant, based on what they knew about the situation, that they would find it difficult to recover APEX on the surface.

They’d need to go down into the caves. 

Winona and Wormwood, some two miles away in the third scouting direction that Wilson had indicated, were having more luck. Of a sort. Seeds were plentiful, and Wormwood was merrily planting whatever the birds brought down, in a long more-or-less trail back the way they had come, not an organized garden. Winona had to admire the industry, even if she wasn’t sure of the plant-creature’s ... anything, really. 

“So,” Winona tried to make conversation, “You like gardening, huh.” 

“Yup!” Wormwood covered the last of the seeds with one leafy hand, patting the mound, “Good friends.” 

They walked for a bit in silence, with only the odd question asked by Winona and answered with no attempt to feed the discussion further - Wormwood didn’t appear to be shutting it down purposefully, they was just incredibly unpracticed with a back-and-forth. 

“Winona, unhappy.” Wormwood noted, as they stopped to make a temporary camp. “Why?” 

Winona, lost in her thoughts, looked up, and found a smile she didn’t particularly feel. These were trying times, and she wanted to reassure, and to be strong, even if it wasn’t always bona fide. “I’m just thinking about home, Sprout. I’d like to get back to the way things were.” 

“Oh.” Wormwood turned a fruit over in their leafy palms, contemplating the universe in a pomegranate. “Can’t, though. Always changing.”

“You don’t get homesick?” Winona ignored the larger implications of that answer, with difficulty.

Wormwood looked up, tracking instinctively for the location of the moon in the dusk, “Nope. What if dark floaty sister won’t come home? Sad... so sad.” 

They seemed sincere, offering a genuinely receptive audience to Winona’s main concern. She blinked hard, too tough to admit how effortlessly that had moved her, but not too proud to feel grateful. It was good to know Wormwood cared.

“I dunno. I didn’t think that far ahead. I guess I’d have to try to stay here like Wilson and Maxie seem to want to do.” She threw a log on the fire, and Wormwood flinched back from the blaze just slightly. “Sorry. Fire’s so important to us I keep forgetting you don’t like it.” 

“Fire is bad.” Wormwood almost-agreed, sanguine, “Good sister, helping. No worries.” 

No worries, indeed. Winona didn’t need to force the smile that time, but she did volunteer to take first night-shift duty to mind the fire. Better not to be alone with her thoughts until she was well and truly exhausted, and could close her eyes and drift off without intrusive thoughts or guilt. Maxwell still confounded her, she couldn’t grok that the magician was outright claiming to have - become something other than human? And that Charlie might have, too.

But there was something of the old Charlie in there, Winona was sure of it. In the dark, she still pounced like she had before, to jump at Winona’s back and be carried, shrieking with delight, through the narrow breezeway separating their apartment building. This time, she had the talons of a predator, but she was still Charlie. 

She whispered to the darkness, then, “I love you, sis. Just hang in there.” 

Down below, a fair fewer feet than APEX found themself, Maxwell and Wilson were conducting self-rescue operations, with the latter realizing after several leverage-free swings at the trapdoor, the thought process was faulty. 

The scientist, sitting down, was jabbed in the back with a sharp pocketed object, and in _eureka_ style, comprehended, “It’s not a _trap_-trapdoor. Chester’s sitting on the hatch.”

Maxwell, illuminated by torchlight, grabbed the bridge of her nose at the answer, simultaneously simple and frustrating. “Goodness.” It made sense. Chester could carry a staggering amount, and was weighed down by most of the load they’d brought with them in preparation for basing in the new territory. Rocks, gold, timber and so on disappeared impossibly into the tiny monster’s panting maw.

Maxwell took the bone, experimentally backing away from the trapdoor, and - once at sufficient distance - Wilson was able to push it open. 

“Let’s not mention this to anyone else.” Maxwell suggested, “Or if we do, leave out the part where we were stumped for hours.” 

“I’m good at leaving out parts like that.” Wilson was jovial, half-guiding Chester down into the underground with them, with a series of artful nudges.

“This is a nightmare.” The magician set up a lantern, extinguishing the more hazardous torch, “A living nightmare.” 

“It’s not that bad.” Wilson knew Maxwell was... a little less able to deal with certain types of embarrassment, though, and volunteered, “You’re right, we don’t need to mention it at all.” She suspected she knew why Maxwell might be upset, though - the magician was all about appearances, controlling perception, and more than anyone, she knew Charlie was capable of watching everything, and watching them fumble and fail. 

“Anyway, now we can see better.” Wilson put a good face on it, “So what’s usually in the area under a stage?”

“Substage.” Maxwell supplied the name helpfully, gratefully refocusing. “Prop storage. Rigging for effects. The technical aspects, mainly. Smoke and fog...” 

“That makes sense.” Wilson approached a rope, looking for labeling, and finding none, began to unwind it from the wooden attachment, “This place must have symbolic importance to her. Or it might be a stand-in for a subconscious arena, where things are hidden away but influence what everyone sees on the outside. The thought process on the throne is a distortion, but it’s linked to the person in charge of the Constant, things start to reflect what they care about. I think it’s part of how They influence the Constant’s Quing.”

Maxwell bit back a question, instinctively feeling it cruel, asking what _Wilson’s_ Constant would have looked like. She hadn’t been on the throne long enough to know, and They must have thought it was too much trouble to corrupt her, given how unconventionally she was ejected.

For a long time after that, Maxwell had felt the euphoria of freedom mingling with the confusion and guilt of what had happened, what she had done, but Wilson at every turn was reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault, without even having to be asked.

Wilson let the rope go, and looked up to where white painted words delineated a break in the wooden beams. “’Star Trap’. Hey, Charlie’s labeling her traps now!” 

“That just means trapdoor.” Maxwell corrected idly, and the look she gave Wilson made the scientist smile in a fully unconscious manner. “See the weight there? It lifts the person and closes behind them.” 

One glance at the platform showed Wilson the problem with that. Only one person could use the trapdoor, and the other would be required to pull the lever to release the weight. 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Wilson dug around in her backpack, “Let’s see. I have a telltale heart, you can hold onto it and if something happens up there, I’ll float back down and you can revive me.” 

That seemed - exactly the level of cavalier that Maxwell had come to expect from Wilson, but more importantly, a shade wasteful for their resurrection equipment. Still, she took the heart. A moment after Wilson stepped on the platform, though, Maxwell changed her mind again, and grabbed at her sleeve. “I should go. I - know Charlie better. It might help.”

The explanation, vague as it was, worked its entreaty at Wilson’s logical brain half (which, like encroaching green, had sprung up in the cracks and neglected footpaths of her emotional brain half). “If you say so.”

“Pull that lever before I change my mind.” 

The star trap made a satisfying ka-thunk, the ropes moved, and the mechanism threw Maxwell up onto the stage. She knew how to move, how to land, like a cat on the darkened stage, even as her heart lurched with the knowledge that there was _enough_ dark here to be deadly, if the sole light source failed... 

A carbon arc lamp - the same kind as was in the theater the evening of The Disaster - blazed from the back of the yawning void, illuminating Maxwell and throwing her shadow back, harsh against the curtains. This structure was not completely unheard of; after all, the pigs and merms made houses, even entire cities. But something about the theater felt discombobulated, bizarre. Unsettling. 

Enough that the magician summoned a guard, with an internal apology to Wilson. The guard looked around, then back at Maxwell expectantly. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t like the atmosphere.” Maxwell said, unnecessarily, “--Line?” 

In answer, Charlie stepped from the void onto the stage, and for the first time, Maxwell felt she understood - an odd quantum split. The Constant made people forget; it stole their histories. It had stolen Maxwell’s memories, softening them at the edges with watercolor mercy. Whoever she’d known in the other world didn’t matter now.

She did remember Charlie, even far and away with her worse nature fed by little whispers and indulged by bitter loneliness. The darkness had always been there, a continuous reminder of what she’d lost.

But _this_ Charlie, smiling at her so terribly... well. There was only one option. 

Maxwell ran. 

She threw every ounce of speed she had into her legs, the backstage passing in a blur, knowing she had only seconds to effect an escape. She knew also that the hatred in Charlie’s heart was both intimately personal and all-consuming. How recently had Wilson snatched **her** soul from the monstrous transformation, the poisonous alchemy that made her a stranger to herself? 

No matter how many times Charlie killed her, Maxwell couldn’t help but understand. But there would be no talking to her like this. They would have to delve deeper into the Constant, overcome more of the resistance, find a safe place from which to challenge her preconceptions. And that was not here. 

There were doors down the hall, starred with names unfamiliar to her, in the old script of the ruins, representing in some way the blend Charlie had with her environment and the memories that made her ... _her._

The mental tension in her hindbrain eased, and she knew along with that physical relief, the duelist had ‘died’, leaving her freer to concentrate and integrate her whole self again. Was Wilson safe downstairs?

What an odd thought to have. Maxwell welcomed it with tenderness.

Throwing herself into the outdoors without looking may have been a mistake, but Maxwell didn’t realize how monumental it was until it was too late to go back. No Giants, no ancient Shadow guardians or lava pits, something much worse. 

Traffic. Smog. Sirens, chatter, dogs and children. Sensory overload from the pastoral peace of the Constant. Maxwell turned, twisted like a cat, but the door she’d emerged from was, from this vantage point, boarded and inaccessible.

“No. _No!_” 

The teeming flock of humans virtually ignored her, politely breaking ranks to flow around her as she stood stricken on a 1920s San Francisco sidewalk.

APEX hadn’t wasted any time after making brutal, bouncing contact with the cave floor, taking stock. Immediately recognizing their legs were broken, the automaton clawed on hands and elbows toward the protective auspices of a mushroom lamp. The ticking of their mostly-functional insides encouraged them onward, and not for the first time, they wished for the gentle, skilled hands of Wilson inside their circuitry - but it was dangerous to rely on organics. She wasn’t here, and APEX would have to act as though they was alone indefinitely, if they wished to survive. 

With bare fingers, they scraped at the dirt, seeking the surface-flint required to create bladed edges, starting from scratch again. And again! As many times as their directives decided was necessary.

Embarassing, though, that they had come along ostensibly to guard the others from physical harm, and ended up ... impaired. 

There were no spare parts within easy reach, and everything of value had been impulsively thrown toward Wes, in APEX’s split-second calculation that they may have died and had no use for any of it. A cave exit to the overworld, which was easier to survive, became the top priority. APEX oriented with difficulty to the rightmost edge of the cave platform, and began the slow, laborious crawl to map the terrain, aware of precious fading daylight and the lack of anything as basic as a torch. 

APEX continued in grim silence, listening intently for the sound of burrowing depth worms, the shaking of the cave walls that heralded a rain of mineral collapse. The humming of the nightmare interdimensional entities, whose Shrodingeresque power only grew with the terror of those who observed them. Nothing. Luck held, insofar as APEX understood ‘luck’ as a handful of ever-running statistical probabilities, prepared against and unforeseen, concurrently calculated. 

Nothing in the normal universe was personal, but ‘Charlie’, the part organic, part nightmare entity, she was very capable of making anything personal. 

APEX drew up short, head cocked, and abruptly twisted to look over one shoulder. Often, especially with Wilson, it was ‘speak of the Devil’, but APEX had taken extreme care to say nothing, and here she was, walking toward them with a criminal slowness. In ordinary circumstances, APEX would have stood and prepared to fight, but neither leg could bear their weight and the lower spinal relay had similarly collapsed in the fall, and was not responding. They had been victim of the gravitational forces and bad luck (the probability of landing on unyielding stone, feet-first, without appropriate dispersal of accumulated energy). 

“UNIT CHARLIE.” To add insult to injury, she did not look the slightest bit threatened by her unarmed and prone opponent. 

“YOU DO NOT DISCUSS. OR SHOW YOURSELF. WHAT IS YOUR DIRECTIVE?” APEX levered themself up, bracing with one arm against a nearby tree, trying to give the impression that they could stand if they required it. 

“There was nothing to discuss, before.” Charlie explained, somewhat absently, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. “But if you survive, you can bring back a message to your friends. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I have everything I ever wanted, and you’re wasting your time.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED. FUTILE, BUT I WILL FORWARD YOUR MESSAGE.” 

She looked curious. “Why do you think it’s futile, little toy?” 

“FOR THE SAME REASON YOU WISH TO SEND IT, IT WILL BE HEARD, AND IGNORED. INDIVIDUAL ORGANIC CONSCIOUSNESS IS FLAWED. INPUT/OUTPUT BIAS.”

Charlie drew back. “I only tell the truth.” 

“YOUR PERCEPTIONS ARE NOT OBJECTIVE.” APEX pulled to one side, able to sit up and lean back against the tree. “COMMON ERROR.”

Silence. Tension, but not mutual: Charlie’s alone. APEX’s hollow eyes kept a vigil no human could hope to match, but Charlie was no longer even loosely human. Wreathed in shadows, she stared them down in conflicted irritation. How much vulnerability would her anger betray? 

“You think you’re above it all. But I’ve seen you with them. I’ve seen how it makes you lonelier; all that worthless longing you carry.” 

There were sharp pieces in her voice, and APEX sorted, precise, through the offered logic. It wasn’t that they didn’t feel emotions - they did. Subtle and gross. But they also took time to ...parse.

Indeed, APEX was tempted to dismiss the response as an irrelevant appeal to emotion. Perhaps a cheap attempt to hurt them, and it could even have worked, if APEX had been in a worse frame of mind.

“PROJECTION?”, APEX wondered, instead.

She scowled, as fearsome in herself as any Constant predator, “Hardly.”

“BEFORE YOU GO.” APEX said, as if Charlie had made any motion to leave (and she had not), “INQUIRY: THE PUPPETEER.”

The shadows around Charlie appeared to deepen. “What about her.” 

“YOU HAD INTERACTION OUTSIDE THIS DIMENSION. YOU WERE BOTH HUMAN ONCE.” APEX observed, “WHAT WAS YOUR PURPOSE? DO YOU REMEMBER?” 

The observations, and the questions, unquestionably both upset her. She stepped back as if APEX had a physical aura she wished to get clear of, retreating further to the dark corners of the cavern from whence she’d come, but not so far as to be completely invisible, either.

She summoned _gravitas,_ “This conversation is over.” 

Before APEX could compute a response, she had turned and retreated. APEX sat under the tree for several minutes to be completely sure she was gone, and then continued sitting there, chipping the few bits of flint they’d managed to recover into serviceable edges. 

“INTERESTING.”


End file.
